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The Strand Magazine. 

Vol, xx ix. 

JANUARY, 1905, 

No- 169. 

By E. W. Hornung« 

HE disastrous episode of the 
sticking^up of Mulfera Station, 
N.S.W., is on all grounds 
ineligible for inclusion in these 
little memoirs. Of the telling 
of Stingaree stories, round the 
in the men's hut, there is, 
day ; but in print, at 
due to those 

camp-fire or 
indeed, no end to this 
least, a certain precedence is 
which reflect least discredit upon Stingaree. 
His villainies were often brutal, seldom in- 
expert ; at Mulfera, however, they were both. 
And yet, even there, the trouble began in one 
of those grim jokes which were a continual 
temptation to this master less mind. But all 
the hack-block world knows how a bishop 
and a bushranger met twice on one summer's 
clay, and how the bushranger laughed first, 
but the bishop last and longest. It is the 
conclusion of that matter of which far too 
little has been heard. 

But at eight o'clock of the Monday morn- 
ing, with a sheltered mercury already in three 
figures, it is known that the romantic ruffians 
were led away in unromantic bonds. Their 
arms were bound to their bodies, their feet 
lashed to the stirrup-irons ; they sat like 
packs upon quiet station horses, carefully 

chosen for the nonce ; they were tethered to 
a mounted policeman apiece, each with lead- 
ing-rein buckled to his left wrist and Govern- 
ment revolver in his right hand. Behind the 
quartette rode the officer in command, 
superbly mounted, watching over all four 
with a third revolver ready cocked. It 
seemed a small and yet an ample escort for 
the two bound men. 

But Stingaree was by no means in that 
state of Napoleonic despair which his bent 
back and lowering countenance were intended 
to convey. He had not uttered a word since 
the arrival of the police ; had let them lift 
him on horseback, as he now sat, without 
raising his morose eyes once, Howie, on 
the other hand, had offered a good deal 
of futile opposition, cursing his captors as 
the fit moved him, and once struggling so 
insanely in his bonds as to earn a tap from 
the wrong end of a revolver and a bruised 
face for his pains. Stingaree glowered in 
deep delight. His mate's part was as well 
acted as his own ; but it was he who had 
conceived them both, and expounded them in 
countless camps against some such extremity 
as this. The result was in ideal accordance 
with his calculations* The man who gave 


rv «w h (~*rw"*filf* Original from 




" Well, you ran against a snag that time, 
Mr. Sanguinary Stingaree ! " 

" I couldn't resist turning Howie into the 
bishop and making myself his mouthpiece. 
I daren't let him open his lips ! It wasn't 
the offertory that was worth having; it was 
the fun of rounding up that congregation on 
the homestead veranda, and never letting 
them spot a thing till we showed our guns. 
There hadn't been a hitch, and never would 
have been if that old bishop hadn't run all 
those miles barefoot over hot sand and taken 
us unawares." 

Made with wry humour and a philosophic 
candour, alike germane to his predicament, 
these remarks seemed natural enough to one 
having no previous personal knowledge of 
Stingaree. They seemed just the sort of 
things that Stingaree would say. But there 
were other things that his chief listener had 
to say, that he had been rolling on his palate 
all the morning, and he may have listened 
the less critically in consequence. 

"You ran against a snag," he repeated, 
"and now your mate's run against another." 
He gave the butt of his ready pistol a 
significant tap. "And I'm the worst snag 
that ever either of you struck," he went on 
in his vainglory. " Make no mistake about 
that. Do you know who I am ? " 

" Not an idea," yawped our own Stingaree. 

" Ever heard of Superintendent Cairns ? " 
proceeded the other, digging him with his 
barrel in the corded ribs. " Ever personate 
him in your time — eh ? — before you looked 
so high as bishops? Well, I'm the real 
Simon Pure ! " 

Stingaree was gazing squarely on his man. 
The hump was by no means so pronounced 
as he had made it on Rosanna ; it looked 
more like a ridge of extra muscle across a 
pair of abnormally broad and powerful 
shoulders. There was the absence of neck 
which this deformity suggests ; there was a 
great head lighted by flashing and indignant 
eyes, but mounted only on its mighty chin. 
Such was the bushranger's first impression of 
one with whom he had latterly enjoyed every 
hostile relation short of the personal en- 
counter. He was conceited enough to find 
in the flesh a coarser and more common type 
than that created by himself for the honour 
of the road. But this did not make the 
real superintendent a less formidable foe. 

"The most poetic justice ! " murmured 
Stingaree, and resumed in an instant his 
apathetic pose. 

"It serves you jolly well right, if that's 
what you mean," the superintendent snarled. 

Digitized by K*i 

"You've yourself and your own mighty 
cheek to thank for taking me out of my shell 
and putting me on your tracks in earnest ! 
But it was high time they knew the cut of my 
jib up here ; the fools won't forget me again 
in a hurry. And you, you demon, you sha'n't 
forget me till your dying day ! " 

On Stingaree's off-side Sergeant Cameron 
was also hanging an insulted head. But the 
bushranger laughed softly in his chest. 

" Someone has got to do your dirty work," 
said he. " I did it that time, and the bishop 
has done it now ; but you shouldn't blame 
me for helping your fellows to bring a 
murderer to justice." 

" You guyed me," cried Cairns through 
his teeth. " I heard ! I heard ! You guyed 
me, blight your soul ! " 

Stingaree felt that he was missing a strong 
face finely convulsed with passion — as indeed 
he was. But he had already committed the 
indiscretion of a repartee, which was scarcely 
consistent with an attitude of extreme despair. 
A downcast silence seemed the safest 

" It used to be forty miles to the Corner," 
he murmured, after a time. " We can't have 
come more than ten." 

"Not so much," snapped the superin- 

" Going to stop for a feed at Mazeppa 

"That's my business." 

" It's a long day for three of you, in this 
heat, with two of us." 

" The time won't hang heavy on our 

" Not heavy enough, I should have thought. 
I wonder you didn't bring some of the boys 
from Mulfera along with you. They were 
keen enough to come." 

Superintendent Cairns brayed his high, 
harsh laugh. 

" Yes, you wonder, and so did they," said 
he. " But I know a bit too much. There'll 
always be sympathy among scum like them 
for thicker scum like you ! " 

"You're too suspicious," said Stingaree, 
mildly. " But I was thinking of the bishop 
and the boss." 

" They've done their part," growled Cairns. 
"They aren't goin' to interfere no more — 
not with me." 

That had been his attitude on the station. 
Stingaree had heard it through his weather- 
board prison walls ; but the man had neither 
the sense nor the self-control to attempt 
concealment of the fact. He revealed his 
character as freely as an angry child, and, 



indeed^ a childish character it was. Arro- 
gance was its strength and weakness : a 
suggestion had only to be made to call down 
either the insolence of office or the malice of 
denial for denial's sake. 

11 1 wish you'd stop a bit at Mazeppa," 
whined Stingaree, drooping like a candle in 
the heat 

The station roofs gleamed through the 
trees far off the track. 


" Because Pm feeling sick." 

" Gammon ! YouVe got some friends 
there ; on you push ! " 

"But you will camp somewhere in the 
heat of the day ? w 

u I'll do as I think fit. I shaVt consult 
you, my fine friend*" 

Stingaree drooped and nodded, lower and 
lower^ then recovered himself with a jerk, 
like one battling against sleep. The party 
pushed on for another hour. The heat was 
terrible ; the bound men endured torments 
in their bonds. But the nature of the super- 
intendent, deformed like his body, declared 
itself duly at every turn, and the more one 
prisoner groaned and the other blasphemed, 
the greater the zest and obduracy of the 
driving force behind them. 

Noon passed ; the scanty shadows length- 
ened ; and Howie gave more trouble of 
an insensate sort. They reined up, and 
lashed him tighter j he had actually 

Digitized by Vji 

cords. But 

h is 

garee was past re- t 

monstrance with friend or foe, and his bound 
body swayed from side to side as the little 
cavalcade went on at a canter to make up 
for lost time. 

He was leading now with the kindly 
sergeant, and his mind had never been more 
alert. Behind them thundered the recal- 
citrant Howie with eon stable and super- 
intendent on either side. They were midway 
between Mazeppa and Clear Corner, or some 
fifteen miles from either haunt of men. 
Stingaree pulled himself upright in the 
saddle as by a superhuman effort, and shook 
off the helping hand that held him by one 

He was about to do a thing at which 
even his courage quailed, and he longed for 
the use of his right arm. It was not abso- 
lutely bound ; the hand and wrist had been 
badly maided underfoot in the Sunday's fray 
— so badly that it had been easy to sham a 
fracture, and have hand and wrist in splints 
before the arrival of the police. They still 
hung before him in a sling, his good right 
hand and arm, stiff and sore enough, yet 
strong and ready at a moment's notice^ when 
the moment came. It had not come, and 
was not coming for a long time, when 



Stingaree set his teeth, lurched either way, 
— and toppled out of the saddle in the 
path of the cantering hoofs. His lashed feet 
held him in the stirrups ; the off stirrup- 
leather had come over with his weight ; and 
there at his horse's hoofs, kicked and trampled 
and smothered with blood and dust, he 
dragged like an anchor, without sign of life. 

And it was worse even than it looked, for 
the life never left him for an instant, nor ever 
for an instant did he fail to behave as though 
it had. Minutes later, when they had stopped 
his horse, and cut him down from the stirrups, 
and carried him into the shade of a hop-bush 
off the track, and when Stingaree dared to 
open his eyes, he was nearer closing them 
perforce, and the scene swam before him with 
superfluous realism. 

Cairns and Cameron, dismounted (while 
the trooper sat aloof with Howie in the saddle), 
were at high words about their prostrate 
prisoner. Not a syllable was lost on Stingaree. 

"You may put him across the horse 
yourself," said the sergeant. " I won't have 
a hand in it But make sure you haven't 
killed him as it is — travelling a sick man like 

" Killed him ? He's got his eyes open ! " 
cried Cairns, in savage triumph. Stingaree 
lay blinking at the sky. " Do you still refuse 
to do your duty ? " 

" Cruelty to animals is no duty of mine," 
declared the sergeant : " let alone my fellow- 
men, bushrangers or no bushrangers." 

" And you ? " thundered Cairns at the 
mounted constable. 

" I'm with the sergeant," said he. " He's 
had enough." 

" Right ! " cried the superintendent, pro- 
ducing a note-book and scribblingvenomously. 
" You both refuse ! You will hear more of 
this ; meanwhile, sergeant, I should like to 
know what your superior wisdom may be 
pleased to suggest." 

" Send a cart back for him," said Cameron. 
" It's the only way he's fit to travel." 

Stingaree sought to prop himself upon the 
elbow of the splintered wrist and hand. 

" There are no more bones broken that I 
know of," said he, faintly. " But I felt bad 
before and now I feel worse." 

" He looks it, too," observed the sergeant, 
as Stingaree, ghastly enough beneath his 
blood and dust, rolled over on his back once 
more, and lay effectively with closed eyes. 
Even the superintendent was impressed. 

"Then what's to be done with him?" he 
exclaimed, with an oath. "What's to be 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

" If you ask me," returned Cameron, " I 
should make him comfortable where he is ; 
after all, he's a human being, and done no 
murder, that we should run the risk of 
murdering him. Leave him to me while you 
two push on with his mate ; then one of 
you can get back with the spring-cart before 
sundown ; but trust me to look after him 
till you do." 

Stingaree held his breath where he lay. 
His excitement was not to be betrayed by 
the opening of an eye. And yet he knew 
that the superintendent was looking the 
sergeant up and down, and he guessed what 
was passing through that suspicious mind. 

" Trust you ! " rasped the dictatorial voice 
at last "That's the very thing I'm not 
inclined to do, Sergeant Cameron." 

" Sir ! " 

"Keep your temper, sergeant I don't 
say you'd let him go. But I've got to 
remember that this man slipped through your 
fingers once before, led you by the hand like a 
blessed old child, and passed himself off for 
me ! Look at the fellow ; look at me ; and 
ask yourself candidly if you're the man for 
the job. But don't ask me, unless you want 
my opinion of you a bit plainer still. No ; 
you go on with the others. The two of you 
can manage Howie ; if you can't, you put a 
bullet through him ! This is my man ; and 
I'm his, by the hokey, as he'll know if he 
tries any of his tricks while you're gone ! " 

Stingaree did not move a muscle. He 
might have been dead ; and in his disappoint- 
ment it was the easier to lie as though he were. 
Really bruised, really battered, really faint 
and stiff and sore, to say nothing of his 
bonds, he felt himself physically no match 
for so young a man — with the extra breadth of 
shoulder and the extra length of arm which 
were part and parcel of his deformity. With 
the elderly sergeant he might have stood a 
chance, man to man, one arm to two ; but 
with Superintendent Cairns his only weapons 
were his wits. They had stood him in some 
stead so far ; he lay and reviewed the situa- 
tion, as it was, and as it had been. In the 
very moment of his downfall, by instinctive 
presence of mind, he had preserved the use 
of his right hand, and that was a still un- 
suspected asset of incalculable worth. It had 
been the nucleus of all his plans ; without a 
hand he must have resigned himself to the 
inevitable from the first Then he had split 
up the party. He heard the sergeant and 
the constable ride off with Howie, exactly 
as he had intended two of the three 
captors to(^9gj, Hir> fall alone introduced 




the element of luck. It might have 
killed or maimed him ; but the risk had been 
run with open eyes. Being alive and whole, 
he had reduced the odds from three against 
two to man and man ; and the difference 
was enormous, even though one of the men 
held all the cards. Against Howie the odds 
were heavier than ever, but Howie was 
eliminated from present calculations. And 
as Stingaree made them with the upturned 
face of seeming insensibility, he heard a 
nonchalant step come and go> but knew an 
eye was on him all the time, and never 
opened his own till the striking of a match 
was followed by the smell of bush tobacco. 

The shadow of the hop - bush was 
spreading like spilt ink ; and as he 
first looked from where he lay, Stingaree 
had it to himself, A wreath of blue smoke 

" Very well ! Don't give me one ! n ex- 
claimed Stingaree, and dealt the moist bag a 
kick that sent a jet of cold water spurting 
over his foot. He expected to be kicked 
himself for that ; he was only cursed, the bag 
snatched out of his reach, and deeply drained 
before his eyes, 

" I was going to give you some/' said 
Cairns, smacking his lips, " Now your 
tongue may hang out before 1 do. J ' 

Stingaree left the hist word with the foe ; 
that also was part of his preconceived policy. 
He still regretted his solitary retort, but not 
for a moment the more petulant act which 
he had just committed. His boots had been 
removed after his fall ; one of his socks was 
now wet through, and he spent the next few 
minutes in taking it off with the other foot. 
The lengthy process seemed to afford his 

1 fclVE me a UHlJSli;, HE CRIED/ 

hovered o%-erhead ; he got to his elbow and 
glanced l*chhicl ; and there sat Cairns in his 
shirt-sleeveSj filling the niche his body made 
in the actual green bush, a swollen wet water- 
bag at his feet, his revolver across his knees. 
There was an ominous click even as Stingaree 
screwed round where he lay. 

" Give me a drink ! " he cried, at sight of 
the humid canvas bag. 

" Why should 1 ? " asked the inspector, 
smoking on, 

" Because I haven't had one since we 
started — because I'm parched with thirst/' 

" Parch away ! w cried the creature of sus- 
picion* " You can't help yourself, and I 
can't help you with this baby to nurse ! 1J 

And he fondled the cocked revolver in his 
hands, ^ 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

mind a certain pensive entertainment* It 
was a shapely and delicate white foot that 
lay stripped at last — a foot that its owner, 
with nothing better to do, could con- 
template with legitimate satisfaction. But 
Superintendent Cairns, noting his prisoner's 
every look, and putting his own confident 
interpretation on them all, cursed him afresh 
for a conceited pig, and filled another pipe, 
with the revolver for an instant by his side, 

Stingaree took no interest in his proceed- 
ings ; the revolver he especially ignored, and 
lay stretched before his captor, one sock orf 
and one sock on, one arm in splints and 
sling and the other bound to his ribs, a 
model prisoner whose last thought was of 
escape. His legs, indeed, were free ; but a 
man who could not sit on a horse was ngt 


i "■ 




the man to run away. And then there was 
the relentless superintendent sitting over him, 
pipe in mouth, but revolver again in hand, 
and a crooked finger very near the trigger. 

The fiery wilderness still lay breathless in 
the great heat^ but the lengthening shadow of 
the hop-bush was now a thing to be thankful 
for, and in it the broken captive fell into a 
fme .semblance of natural slumber, Cairns 
watched with alternate envy and suspicion; 
for him there could not be a wink ; but most 
likely the fellow was shamming all the time. 
No rase, however, succeeded in exposing the 
sham, which the superintendent copied by 
breathing first heavily and then stertorously, 
with one eye open and on his man. Stingaree 
never opened one of his : there was no change 
in the regular breathing, in the peaceful 
expression of the blood-stained face : asleep 
the man must be. The superintendent's own 
experiments had gone to show him that no 
extremity need necessarily keep one awake in 
such heat. He stifled a yawn that was no 
part of his performance, His pipe was out j 
he struck a match noisily on his boot ; and 
Stingaree just stirred, as naturally as any 

Stingaree's senses were in- 
He smelt every whiff of 

pipe, knew to ten seconds 

infant But 
credibly acute, 
the rekindled 

when it went out once more, and listened 
in an agony for another match. None 
was struck. Was the superintendent him- 

opened the other, and there could be no 
more doubt. The terrible superintendent 
was dozing in his place ; but it was the 
lightest sort of doze, the eyes were scarcely 
closed, and all but watching Stingaree, as the 
cocked revolver in the relaxed hand all but 
covered him. The prisoner felt that for the 
moment he was unseen, forgotten, but 
that the lightest movement of his body 
would open those terrible eyes once 
and for all. Be it remembered that he 
was lying under them lengthwise, on the 
bound arm, with the arm in the sling 
uppermost, and easily to be freed, but yet the 
most salient part of the recumbent figure, 
and that on which the hidden eyes still 
seemed fixed, for all their lids. To make the 
least movement there, to attempt the slowest 
withdrawal of hand and arm, was to court the 
last disaster of discovery in such an act. But 
to lie motionless to the thighs, and to execute 
a flank movement with the leg uppermost, 
was a far less perilous exploit It was the 
leg with the bare foot : every detail had been 
foreseen. And now at last the bare foot 
hovered over the revolver and the hand it 
held, while the upper man yet lay like a log 
under those drowsy, dreadful eyes 

Stingaree took a last look at the barrel 
drooping from the slackened hand ; the back 
of the hand lay on the ground, the muzzle 
of the barrel was filled with sand, and yet 


self really asleep this time ? He breathed 

as though he were ; but so did Stingaree ; 

and yet was there hope in the fact that his 

own greatest struggle all this time had been 

against the very thing he feigned. 

At last he opened one eye a little ; it was 

met by no answering furtive glance; he 
VoL utk*— 2. 

the angle was such that it was by no means 
sure whether a bullet would bury itself in the 
sand or in Stingaree. He took the risk, and 
with his bare toe he touched the trigger 
sharply, There was a horrible explosion. 
It brought the drowsy inspector to his senses 
with such a j^rk- 1 itdaAtf iit» was as though the 





smoking pistol had leapt out of his hand a 
thing alive, and so into the hand that flashed 
to meet it from tlur sling. And almost in 
the same second — while the double cloud of 
smoke and sand still hung between them — 
Stingaree sprang from the ground, an armed 
man once more. 

H Sit where you are ! n he thundered. 
£ * Up with those hands before I shoot them 
to shreds I Your life's in less danger than 
mine has been all day, but I'll wing you 
limb by limb if you offer to budge ! " 

With uplifted hands above his ears, the 
deformed inspector sat with head and 
shoulders depressed into the semblance of 
one sphere. Not a syllable did he utter ; but 
his upturned eyes shot indomitable fires. 
Stingaree stood wriggling. and fumbling at the 
coil which bound his left arm to his side ; 
suddenly the revolver went off, as if by 
accident, but so much by design that there 
dangled two ends of rope, cut and burnt 
asunder by lead and powder. In less than a 
minute the bushranger was unbound, and 
before the minute was up he had leapt upon 
the inspector's thoroughbred. It had been 
tethered all this time to a tree, swishing tails 
with the station hack which Stingaree had 

Digitized by Gt 

ridden as a captive ; he now rode th< 
thoroughbred, and led the hack, to the verj 
feet of the humiliated Cairns t 

" I will thank you for that water-bag/' said 
Stingaree. w I am much obliged And now 
I'll trouble you for that nice wideawake- 
You really don't need it in the shade. 
Thank you so much ! n 

He received both bag and hat on the 
barrel of the inspector's revolver, hooting 
the one to its proper saddle-strap, and 
clapping on the other at an angle inimitably 
imitative of the outwitted officer. 

" I won't carry the rehearsal any further to 
your face," continued Stingaree; "but I can 
at least promise you a more flattering 
portrait than the last ; and this excellent 
coat j which you have so considerately left 
strapped to your saddle, should contribute 
greatly to the verisimilitude. Dare I hope 
that you begin to appreciate same of the 
points of my performance so far as it has 
gone? The pretext on which I bared 
my foot for its delicate job under your 
very eyes, eh ? Not so vain as it looked, in 
either sense, I fancy ! Should you have 
said that your hand would recoil from 
a revolver the moment it went off? You 




see, I staked my life on it, and I've won. 
And what about that fall ? It was the 
lottery \ I was prepared to have my head 
cracked like an egg, and it's still pretty sore. 
The broken wrist wasn't your fault ; it had 
passed into the accepted situation before you 
turned up. And you would certainly have 
seen that I was shamming sleep if we hadn't 
both been so genuinely sleepy at the time. 
I give you my word, I very nearly threw 
up the whole thing for forty winks ! 
Any other point on which you could wish 
enlightenment ? Then let me thank you 
with all my heart for one of the worst days, 
and some of the greatest moments, in my 
whole career ! " 

But the hunched inspector answered never 
a word, as he sat in a ball with uplifted 

"Dead!" said he, thickly, "He was 
worse than we thought You fetch him 
while I " 

But the sergeant knew that voice too 
well, and his right hand had flown to 
the back of his belt Stingaree's shot was 
only first by a fraction of a second, but it put 
a bullet through the brain of the horse be- 
tween the shafts, so that horse and shafts came 
down together, and the sergeant fired into 
the earth as he fell across the splash -board. 

Stingaree pressed soft heels into the thorough- 
bred's ribs and thundered on and on. Soon 
there was a gate to open, and when he 
listened at that gate all was still behind him 
and before ; but far ahead the rolling plain 
was faintly luminous in the dusk, and as 
this deepened into night a cluster of 


palms, and glaring, upturned, unconquerable 

"Good-bye, Mr. Real Simon Pure," said 
Stingaree, " I'm afraid IVe been rather cruel 
to you, but you were not very nice to me." 

Sergeant Cameron was driving the spring- 
cart, towards sundown, after a variety of un- 
foreseen delays. Of a sudden out of the 
pink haze came a galloping figure, slightly 
humped, in the inspector's coat and wide- 
awake, with a bare foot through one stirrup 
and only a sock on its fellow. 

l£ Where's Stingaree?" screamed the ser- 
geant, pulling up. And the galloper drew 
rein at the driven horse's head. 


terrestrial lights sprang out with the stars. 
Stingaree knew the handful of gaunt, unshel- 
tered huts the lights stood for. They were 
an inn, a store, and a police-barracks : 
Clear Corner on the map. The bushranger 
galloped straight up to the barracks, 
but skirted the knot of men in the light 
before the veranda, and went jingling round 
into the yard. The young constable in charge 
ran through the building and met him dis- 
mounted at the bark. 

"What's the matter, sir?" 

11 He's gone ! " 

" Stingaree ? " 

" He was worse than we thought. Your 
man all iigQl?ginal from 




" No trouble whatever, sin Only sick and 
sorry and saying his prayers in a way you'd 
never credit. Come and hear him, sin" 

" 1 must come and see him at once. Got 
a fresh horse in ? " 

" I have so ! In and saddled in the stall. 
I thought you might want one, sir, and ran 
tip Barmaid, Stingaree's own mare, that was 
sent out here from the station when we had 
the news," 

" That was very thoughtful of you. You'll 
get on, young man. Now lead the way with 
that lamp." 

This time Stingaree had spoken in gasps, 
like a man who had rid don very far, and the 
young constable, unlike his sergeant, did not 
know his voice of 
old. Yet it struck 
him at the last 
moment as more 
unlike the voice of 
Cairns than the 
hardest riding 
should have made 
it, and with the 
key in the door of 
the single cell the 
young fellow 
wheeled round 
and held the lamp 
on high. That in- 
stant he was felled 
to the floor^ the 
lamp went down 
and out with a 
separate yet simul- 
taneous crash, 
and Stingaree 
turned the key. 

M Howie ! Not 
a word — out you 
come ! " 

The burly ruffian crept forth with out- 
stretched hands apart 

" What ! Not even handcuffed ? " 

,£ No ; turned over a new leaf the moment 
we left you, and been praying like a parson 
for 'em all to hear 1 " 

"This chap can do the same when he 
comes to himself* Lies pretty still, doesn't 
he ? In with him ! n 

The door clanged. The key was turned* 
Stingaree popped it in his pocket. 

** The later they let him out the better. 
Here's the best mount you ever had. And 
my sweetheart's waiting for me in the 

stable ! " 

Outside, in front, 

before the barracks 
veranda, an in- 
quisitive little 
group heard first 
the clang of the 
door within, and 
presently the clat- 
ter of hoofs com- 
ing round from the 
yard, Stingaree 
and Howie — a 
white flash and a 
bay streak — swept 
past them as they 
stood confounded. 
And the dwindling 
pair still bobbed 
in sight, under a 
full complement 
of stars, when a 
fresh outcry from 
the cell, and a. 
mighty hammer- 
ing against its 
locked door, 
broke the truth 
to one and 


by Google 

Original from 

£h IBissirt IBjianiaif 

By Edmund Mitchell. 

OUNTAIN, river, lake, forest, 
moorland, sea-girt shore — all 
have their devotees among 
those who delight in the 
beauties of Nature, or to 
whom at times comes the irre- 
sistible longing to flee for a spell from the 
busy haunts of men. But the desert has 
hardly yet begun to attract either the lover 
of scenery or the pilgrim of rest. With but 
rare exceptions none but travellers having 
ulterior objects in view cross the waste places 
of the earth, and most of these, surveyihg 
the scene from the windows of a railroad car, 
rest content with the vague and thoroughly 
erroneous impression that all around is a 
barren and deadly monotonous wilderness of 
unloveliness, where animal life is absolutely 
non-existent and vegetation is represented 
merely by a few dwarf shrubs desiccated to 
bunches of crackling- Of the others who 
journey in more primitive style afoot, on 
back of beast, or with cart and team — 
few care : or it may be dare, to linger by the 
way. Nor have all the eyes to see and 
the hearts to understand the subtle charm, 
the brooding mystery, of the solitude that 
encompasses them. 

The mining prospector making for the 
mountains that flank the desert with bastions 
of bare rock ? the home-seeker trekking for 

by C^OOgle 

the watered lands lying far beyond the 
horizon of shimmering heat haze, pass by 
without thought of the animals and plants 
struggling for existence among the thirsty 
sand dunes. The painful necessity of 
having to extract a cactus thorn that has 
pierced even good shoe-leather, or the sight 
of a chaparral cock running across the track, 
may indeed draw attention to the fact that 
the seeming abode of desolation has its living 
things. But there is no pause to inquire 
why plant or fowl should be armed so for- 
midably, the one with spikes like bayonets, 
the other with sharp-edged beak like a pair 
of shears. The lesson of the desert, the 
entrancing stories it has to tell of courage 
and vigilance, of preparedness against every 
foe, of fierce, stubborn, and indomitable 
tenacity, the marvellous pictures it presents of 
Nature's skilful handiwork, her adaptation of 
means to ends, her triumph under conditions 
that might seem to have made enduring 
victory impossible— all this has been missed. 
Not so with the wayfarer possessing obser- 
vation, sympathy, and imagination, whereby 
to open for him self the book of the wilder- 
ness and spell out at least a few of its pages. 
He has come, mayhap, like the rest — to 
travel through and be gone. But his interest 
is quickly captured, his enthusiasm kindled ; 
with every new revelation wonder and 
Original from 




admiration grow; he tarries awhile, wanders 
along by-paths into sequestered nooks where 
unexpected glimpses of exquisite scenery are 
unfolded, feels unable to tear himself a way, 
so prolongs his sojourn, and, when it must be 
that he depart, does so reluctantly and with 
the firm resolve to return again. For the 
song of the desert, if low, is soft and dulcet 
as siren music ; he whose soul has once 
caught the divine harmony never forgets, he 
will hear it a-Gilling even in his dreams. 

And after a few visits at different seasons 
of the year experience brings realization that 
few spots on God's earth are really more 
beautiful or grow more dear to the heart than 
this same grim old desert, at first so un- 
inviting and unpromising. From dawn to 
eve the purest, freshest air that blows, sun- 
shine that exhilarates, dry heat that warms to 
the very marrow of one's bones ; by night, 
starlight or moonlight effulgent, crisp cold 
that makes the blood to tingle, a couch on 
the sand beneath the canopy of the ever 
cloudless sky ; day after day an unbroken 
procession of gorgeous sunsets and sunrises, 

t\vm a rhutu. bff] 

'.«; |v tt Ac V ami HUX.VS. 

with glorious colour effects, ranging from 
deepest purple to rosy pink, changing each 
moment and with each object the eye chances 
to rest upon ; in the springtide a carpet of 
flowerets, acre- wide and surpassing in richness 
and harmony the most superb of Persian 
rugs ever patterned ; in the summer balsamic 
odours perfuming the air after every stirring 
of dried shrub or herb j at all times silence 
so profound that the whole world of men, 
with its cares and perplexities, seems to be 
at a distance immeasurable ; rest fulness com- 
plete for body and for brain, even though 

the muscles be stimulated to unwonted exer- 
tion and the mind be yeast ing with new 
thoughts — such be the joys that close 
intimacy with the desert brings, and that 
abide for ever in a desert-lover's memory. 

To show how varied and interesting may 
be a holiday in the wilderness, I propose to 
give an account of a recent excursion made 
by a party of four over one section of the 
Great Colorado Desert, We were men of 
diverse nationalities and diverse pursuits— a 
young minister from the New England States, 
a professional landscape photographer from 
Los Angeles, a German artist, a British 
novelist. The month was October, deliber- 
ately chosen, for we wished to experience the 
full blaze of autumnal heat Our approach 
being from the Californian side, we travelled 
by Southern Pacific Railway through the 
smiling and sun-kissed Valley of Pomona, 
with its orange groves and vineyards, as far 
as the narrow pass between San Bernardino 
and San Jacinto- — noble mountain peaks, 
twelve thousand and eleven thousand feet 
high, that stand as sentries at the western 

gateway of the 

Waiting for us 
here, at the 
wayside station of 
Palm Springs, 
was a light four- 
wheeled waggon 
drawn by a pair 
of mules. Into 
this we piled our 
stores and camp 
equipment, all 
calculated on the 
lightest scale — 
blankets, cook 
ing utensils re 
stricted to frying 
pan, coffee - pot 
and a coupli 
of tin cans fo 
boiling purposes, dishes just a few, pre 
visions for the first fourteen days, shot-gur 
rifle, and ammunition, together with cam en 
tripod, and a liberal supply of plates. Heade 
south, the mules set off at the regulatio 
desert pace — a leisurely but steady walk 
and soon the wheels were deep in t\ 
churning sand. 

Rut only five miles from the railroa 
round a bend of the mountains, came ; 
idyllic scene — the first of many revelatio 
of how little of what really exists on t 
desert tStoi $ci ad^ra r glimpsed from passi 




trains. A vivid oasis of greenery — pepper 
trees, cotton-woods, palms and agaves, 
cypresses and oleanders, orange, lemon, and 
fig trees, with a wealth of humbler shrubs in 
great variety ! This is the home of Dr. 
Wellwood Murray, a patriarchal Scot who 
has lived for a score of years under the 
rugged shoulder of San Jacinto, and trans- 
formed a waste of sage scrub into shade 
grove, fruit orchard, and flower garden. 

To me the place was familiar — I had 
already spent a winter under my country- 
man's hospitable roof. He was at his gate- 
way to give us welcome, to bid us enter. 
But on the present occasion home comforts 
had no attraction. We were " hoboes " of 
the desert, our only immediate need a camp- 
ing-ground ; and soon, under the shade of 
some graceful, wide-sweeping pepper trees, 
we had fire alight and the " billy " set to boil. 

The " billy " — the word dropped from my 
lips almost unconsciously. For again, in 
imagination, I was back in the bush of dear 
old Australia, under the whispering, scented 
gurn trees, with the log-fire blazing and the 
comrades of long ago squatted around. But 
reveries were cut short by a question from 
one of my American friends. 

" The billy ! What in all the world is a 
billy ? " 

" A billy," I proceeded to explain, " is that 
bright new can now blackening amidst the 
flames. When it is thoroughly smoked and 
crusted with wood ashes, when it is dented 
and battered, when it has boiled our tea for 
us a score of times, when it has shown its 
off-duty serviceableness as a receptacle for 
salt, tobacco, jack-knife, and all conceivable 
odds and ends, when we have yarned around 
it night after night while the quail or ducks 
for supper are simmering in its hospitable 
depths and sending forth a fragrant steam — 
then will it be the veritable billy indispens- 
able to every bushman in the land of the 
Southern Cross, and very dear to his heart 
ere the end of a long trail." 

My interrogator mused awhile, rummaging, 
I knew right well, through old Noah 

" We have no word in America that 
expresses all that," he said at last. 

" No," I replied, with prompt confidence. 
" ' While the billy boils ' is a phrase full of 
meaning and of tender reminiscence." 

" ' While the billy boils ' " — the words were 
repeated reflectively. "It sounds good — 
very good. Boys, we'll adopt it right now." 

And in true go-ahead American fashion 
the act of annexation was at once ratified. 
Digitized by OOOQIc 

Thenceforward, for the remainder of our 
journey the " billy " was boiled, washed, 
filled with water, tipped over, mildly sworn 
at, coaxed with twigs of kindling, dropped 
incontinently at times when fingers took 
undue liberties with its hot yet innocent- 
looking black rim, watched by the hour 
while the wood ashes glowed, pipes were 
alight, and anecdotes went round — all strictly 
in accordance with Australian custom. 
"Can," "tin," "pail"— pah! the feeble, 
would-be synonyms were banished from our 

With the dawn we were stirring, and an 
hour later were on the way for Andreas 
Canyon, where our first long camp would be 
made. For some hours we ascended gently 
towards the mountains, and then, after a 
somewhat precipitous climb, entered their 
very breast through a gash in the rock w r all. 
Another transformation scene, that might 
have been passed by a hundred desert way- 
farers without any thought of what lay within. 

Here once dwelt an old Indian, who still 
gives his name to the canyon. But the man 
is dead these twenty years, his little ado*be 
house in ruins, with a tangle of grape-vines 
run wild over its crumbling walls. The plot 
of land the red man cultivated has long since 
been reclaimed by the brushwood wilderness. 
Only the purling brook that waters the glade 
abides for all time. Under its fringing trees 
we tether our mules and spread the canvas 
for our bedding. And here we linger for 
three days. 

" Now, what went ye there for to see ? " 
the novice to desert travel may ask. A gap 
in the mountains, a patch of greenery, a 
tumble-down hovel of mud bricks — is the 
answer suggested. But let me supplement 
with a few more points. Get a hatchet, my 
friend, and cut a way up the defile, through 
the dense undergrowth of native scrub and 
riotously encroaching vines. 

Not a hundred yards above our halting- 
place are cave dwellings of prehistoric 
Indians. Observe the site — a natural watch- 
tower, with clefts that sweep the plain for 
approaching foes. In front, on a slab of 
smooth granite, are the deeply-worn mortar- 
holes in which these ancient inhabitants of 
the canyon pounded their mesquite beans. 
Dig in the sand close by, as we dug, and you 
will find broken pestles that fit these mortars, 
scraps of rude pottery, the bones of animals 
half-consumed by fire. On the rock roof 
you can still see the smoke-blackened patch 
beneath which the steaks of venison were 
broiled. Where are the men and women 




and children that lived and loved, cooked 
and feasted and played, slept and wakened 
for the fray, fought and died — all on this very 
scene ? Gone as the puff of smoke that 
curls up towards Heaven and is dissipated 
for ever, thes^ scant relics around us their 
only record. 

Andreas was a modern man, tinctured with 
civilization, speaking the language of the old 
mission fathers, wearing on fiesta occasions 
a frock-coat with brass buttons, and a stove- 
pipe hat secured to his head by a gay yellow 
bandana. He could build for himself a 
house of sun- 
dried bricks, he 
practised a little 
tillage — just a 
little ; he plan 
ted grapes, he 
even distilled 
his own brandy 
and by aid of a 
very primitive 
still. The name 
of Andreas sur- 
vives by tradi- 
tion ; there are 
white men alive 
to-day who 
visited him and 
conversed with 
him. But who 
were these cave- 
dwellers, his 
possible fore- 
fathers ? Not 
even Andreas 
himself could 
tell ! 

our way up the 
canyon we kill a 
big rattlesnake 
sunning him- 
self among the 
rocks. We cross 
lingering by many a waterfall and deep, 
spacious pool. Hour after hour we force a 
way through the tangled brush. But at last 
our goal is reached — the great sentinel palm 
that stands in solitary grandeur far up the 
ravine, Its clean, straight stem rises a 
hundred feet into the air, its age is to be 
numbered by centuries. Ah ! if only this 
lone palm could tell its tale ! 

The scene here is superb, the view it 
commands of the plain down below magni- 
ficent. We are so high now that all the 

From a Pfcoto. bjf C, C, Pierce. 

and recross the stream, 

stunted growth of the desert is obliterated ; 
the unaided eye sees but shimmering sand 
clothed as with a gossamer robe of heliotrope. 
To right and left of us are sheer precipices, 
beneath is a cascade partly masked by 
greenery, overhead the symmetrically -tufted 
plume of the giant palm outlined against a 
sky of indigo blue. The stillness is intense 
— not a bird rustles a leaf or warbles a note> 
not a breath of wind wafts a sigh, the water- 
fall is but a silent, seemingly motionless, 
scimitar of steel flashing in the sunlight. We 
do not desecrate the spot by speech — we just 

sit and drink 
its beauties into 
our souls. 

That night in 
camp the stars 
seem brighter 
than ever, more 
majestic in 
their sublime 
calm — the calm 
that belongs 
only to eternity; 
our little world 
grows smaller, 
more insignifi- 
cant than be- 
fore ; our mere 
selves Income 
but atomic dust 
amidst the stu- 
pendous works 
of creation. 
For if a man 
has once stood 
under the sen- 
tinel palm in 
Andreas Can- 
yon, mountains 
around him, 
the desert be- 
neath, the 
stately tree, like 
the god of the 
place, wrapped in an atmosphere of con- 
templative solitude, then will his perspec- 
tive of things mortal and transient be for 
ever altered. 

From our camp next morning we cross the 
divide into Murray Canyon, where the desert 
palms grow in numbers, grouped in pictur- 
esque clusters on a fine amphitheatre of 
meadowlike land, or strung out along the bed 
of the watercourse, dried up at the time of 
our visit. On the d;iy following we make a 
still longer expedition to Palm Tree Canyon, 
Here the palm^afafroffli still greater pro- 




fusion, and in every stage 
of development, from inch- 
high seedlings to hundred- 
feet centenarians. Jostling 
each other, they fairly crowd 
the narrow defile that cuts 
for twenty miles into the 
heart of the mountain 
range. Twenty miles ! — 
think of it. Yet one might 
pass along the edge of the 
desert, miss the narrow 
gateway, and never know 
that there was canyon here, 
or luxuriant palm tree 
growth to transform this far 
Western spot into a veri- 
table niche from Barbary 
or Araby. The same day, 
in the falling darkness, we 
descend again to Palm 
Springs, light our fire be- 
neath the pepper trees, and 
discuss our first spoils of 
knowledge and experience 
— fl while the billy boils." 

Next day was an off-day 
so far as hard work was 
concerned. We went over 
our baggage, discarding 
every thing but absolute 
necessaries for the desert 
trail proper, strolled among 
Indians on the reservation, 
some of their baskets. We 
the pool of hot sand, famous from the times 
of the first Spanish pioneers — one of the 
spots marked agua caHenit on the early maps 
of Southern California* This bath is a natural 
wonder that would make any spa in Europe 
world - famous. The surface water, which 
has a mild odour of sulphur, is only a few 
inches deep, Beneath is black sand, fine and 
clean as emery powder, soft to the skin as silk, 
and constantly in gentle motion. The bather 
does not touch bottom— his body sinks to 
the shoulders, and, with the aid of a cross-bar 
of timber, is then sustained in a position of 
perpendicular flotation. The temperature is 
just as warm as can be comfortably home, 
and the sensation, like to that of soft 
massaging, is delightful. There is no danger, 
for even with the exertion of all one's strength 
downwards it is impossible to get one's chin 
to the level of the water. Solid substances 
promptly sink and are engulfed, but not so 
the bather. As the Indians say, " Everything 
disappears but a man." The red man's faith 
in the healing powers of this spring is great, 

Vol. xxjx, — 3 

l-Al.M I BJ-..K i \\y.>S 

[C. C. Pietxe, 

the huts of the 
and purchased 
also bathed in 

and scattered members of the Cahuilla trilve 
come from a distance to take the bath that 
soothes the nerves and drives every ache 
from stiffened bones, 

Our first stage over the level expanse of 
country, the desert proper, was one of 
eighteen miles — to Indian Well. It was a 
long pull for the mules, through sandy soil, 
and with their own provender of hay and 
grain, besides ten gallons of reserve water, 
added to the load. At last we experienced 
some of the real hardships of desert travel, 
and could gain at least a faint idea cf its 
risks in the old days when there was no 
certainty of water ahead. No trees now, 
no tempering mountain breeze ; just a blazing 
wilderness, with the sun -rays pouring down on 
us from above, and being flashed back from 
the naked ground as from a mirror. Now 
could we understand as never before those 
beautiful words of the Prophet Isaiah : "The 
shadow of a great rock in a weary land/'* 

Yet even here was animal life in plenty — 
big black-beetles gravely plodding along as 
if on some mission of importance, and lizards 
with abnormally long tails, in colour so closely 

^"^J^fertY^RM^.^ the lilt,e 

I > 


JVwm a FhotQ. b»\ 


[U* V. Fierce. 

creatures remained quite unseen until fright 
sent them scurrying from the track. Poos 
the lizard drag his caudal appendage along 
the ground or carry it on high ? How many 
book students will answer the question right 
off and with positive certainty ? We noted 
that even these varieties, with two-thirds of 
their entire length made up of tail, kept it 
rigidly extended and clear of every obstruc- 
tion. One of our party made a grab at a 
s|>ecinien. But only the wriggling, snake-like 
tail remained in his grasp ; the animal had 
at once discarded it, and had escaped with 
the shorter, hut essential, part of his anatomy, 
Here and elsewhere on the desert were 
occasional stretches of clayey soil, which 
served to show how Nature was man's first 
teacher in the art of pottery. The sun had 
scored the surface with deep lines, then 
curved and twisted the severed patches ; so 
that for miles we walked over broken pot- 
sherds, with here and there a rudimentary 
vase or perfectly modelled bowl, all cracking 
under foot like regularly- baked earthenware. 
Thereafter would come an expanse of clean 
white sand, rolled by the wind into billowing 
dunes. After a time mesquite bushes would 
be encountered struggling for a root-hold ; 
and soon we would be among thickets of the 
hardy shrub, gradually growing to veritable 
forest glades, through which the trail had 
been cut, so that for twenty or thirty yards 
we would be in a tunnel of greenery. And, 
oh* the cool and grateful shade of such spots 

after the heat and 
glare of the open ! 
For miles 
around Indian 
Well we are on 
an old camping- 
ground of the red 
man* In every 
direction the place 
is strewn with 
fragments of 
brown earthen- 
ware — they must 
have been rare 
smashers of 
crockery, these 
primeval savages. 
Flakes of obsidian 
suggest arrow- 
heads, and dili- 
gent search 
during several 
hours rewards 
us with about a 
scoie of these — 
dainty, tiny bits of workmanship, pointed 
and barbed, and notched for tying on to the 
shaft of the missile. We also find a bit of 
pipe -stem, a broken pestle, several flat disc- 
shaped stones likewise used for triturating 
the mesquite pod, portions of the stone trays 
on which the rubbing process was performed, 
and numerous flints with sharp edges that 
display clear marks of usage. 

The old Indian Well, as our picture shows, 
has been improved, and is kept in careful 
repair for the use of modern desert way- 
farers, We had camped beside it only an 
hour or so when up came a covered waggon, 
in which were seated a man, a woman, three 
or four children, and a tiny dog no larger 
than one's hand, They proved to be home- 
seekers on the way to the newly-opened 
Paolo Verde country, on the banks of the 
Colorado River, two hundred miles distant 
Their tent was spread, their fire lighted, their 
supper cooking, their horses were watered, 
foddered, and tethered for the night, all w r ith 
the marvellous precision and celerity of the 
experienced camper 

After sundown I strolled across the way. 
" Where is your home ? " I asked of the 
eldest boy, 

u Ain't got any. Guess it's that waggon 
for the present," came the nonchalant and 
quite cheerful answer. 

I engaged the father in conversation and 
readily gi^-hw LfffOTf r *A{ ter bein g for flfteen 



he was making for a new land of promise, 
there to build his own home and plant his 
own alfalfa patch. Full of hope, full of 
courage, making light of every hardship, 
actual and inevitable ; with busy, cheery wife 
and happy, romping bairns j sturdy son of a 
sturdy soil — a second time that day to this 
man j as I had done to the mesquite, I lifted 
my hat — metaphorically, at all events. Of 
such is the true wealth, the true nobility of 
great and glorious America, to whose future 
greatness and glory no man can set a limit 
so long as her abundant brood of pioneers 
and conquerors set their calm, brave faces 
towards the unreclaimed expanses, the wilder- 
nesses of to-day, the smiling cornfields and 
fruit orchards of to-morrow. An "abundant 

weird epic of the place whispering on the 

We had been descending gradually from 
Palm Springs, about five hundred feet, to 
Indian Well, only one hundred feet above 
sea-level On the evening of the next day 
we dropped down to Indio, twenty-two feet 
below, our first stopping-place in the actual 
sink of the great depression stretching east- 
wards as far as eye could reach. But our 
journeying did not lie that way yet awhile, 
After crossing, the mules were turned back 
again towards the west A long day's travel 
brought us to the Canyon of a Thousand 
Palms, where we camped, almost opposite 
our point of starting far across the wilderness. 

But palms, palms, palms ! Although their 

From a Photo. %] 


[ft a Pkrm. 

brood." I write the words deliberately, for 
this family was but a type of many others we 
encountered by the way during our three 
weeks' sojourn on the desert. 

Indian Well. What a scene of romantic 
beauty and romantic poetry ! We were en- 
compassed by rolling sand dunes and banked 
mesquite thickets, with a background of 
jagged, saw-toothed mountains, And there, 
written on the wind-swept, gravelly soil at 
our feet, was the story of a vanished race, 
its hieroglyphs, potsherds, and arrow-heads. 
While the moon rode high during the silent 
watches of the night, silvering everything 
with its shimmering sheen, we heard the sad, 

beautiful forms and groupings never ceased 
to delight us, never brought satiety, the 
iteration of the story would weary my 
readers. Suffice it to say that on this side 
of the desert, rarely visited by travellers, for 
it is off the beaten track, we found the noble 
trees strung in almost continuous ranks along 
the foothills — in one place even straggling 
out in a line on to the plain, in several 
canyons massed in magnificent groves. For 
three days we lingered, under the shadow 
of the tufted plumes, sketching and photo- 
graphing, musing and dreaming, and then, 
reluctantly, nv took i:he Kick trail 



Canyon of a Thousand Palms proved to be 
a vast amphitheatre of desert, opening out 
from the desert proper by a narrow gate- 
way — the arroyo or dried-up bed of a stream. 
Within a mile or two of the entrance the 

precisely in these sheltered and ash-fertilized 
crannies that seeds had since found root hold 
and protection for their tender growth. We 
searched for arrow-heads or other relics, and 
were lucky enough to discover, in two frag- 

From a Fht4o. by] 


[C. C. I'unc. 

palm trees grow In three great clumps, 
several hundreds in each. Beyond are 
numerous buttes of clay and broken rock 
rising high above the level surface of 
the sandy soil. The loftiest of these we 
scaled — a steep climb of several hundred 
feet. We found ourselves on a round table, 
perhaps an acre in extent " A natural 
observation tower," we exclaimed. And an 
old look-out of the Indians it proved to be. 
For almost in the centre lay the fragments 
of a huge olla or earthenware water -pot— 
no small drinking or cooking vessel, but a 
great round and narrow-necked vase for 
abundant storage. Here the sentries watched, 
and oh ! the magnificent sweep of view they 
commanded, back to the bare, scarped preci- 
pices of the mountains proper, in front over 
the foothills of detritus and far out on to the 
desert beyond. For a minute we wondered 
why three or four tiny bushes were each en- 
circled by care fully- laid stones. But then, 
like a flash, came the explanation. These 
were fireplaces, where the burning brands 
had been protected from the winds that 
would have scattered them ; and it was 

ments at a considerable distance from each 
other, the second one having been washed 
down a little watercourse, an almost perfect 
Indian pipe-bowl, of fine, smooth red clay 3 
the design somewhat elaborate and rudely 
artistic. So we laid the flattering unction to 
our souls that white man had never trodden 
here before, for surely then had not such 
treasure- trove been left for our gleaning. 

The next days we spend among the Indians 
on the reservations of Torres and Martinez. 
Here we behold many interesting sights, last 
reminders of an order of things that is rapidly 
passing away — big wickerwork granaries on 
props for storing the mesquite pods ; wells 
dug as inclined planes, down which cattle 
used to be driven ; aged squaws patiently 
plaiting beautifully - patterned baskets in 
natural tints of white, black, red, and yellow ; 
old braves in scanty attire, w T hose only re- 
sponse to our greeting is a grunt in some 
language that may be bad Spanish or good 
Cahuilla, but is quite unintelligible to our 
ears ■ taciturnity, distrust, and the ignorance 
that begets this mood or mind written on 

their «R^^WI?HlGyN alsoseethe 



new order of things : the trim little mission 
church of the Moravians ; the Government 
school-house and the Indian children at their 
lessons ; artesian wells gushing with copious 
streams, reservoirs in course of construction, 
stacks of baled hay ; the red man farmer 
ploughing , his hired help — likewise a red 
man — earning his two dollars a day ; the 
younger squaws cutting out and dressmaking, 
wearing their home-made finery of Parisian 
mode with a smile of self-appreciation, quite 
delighted to have their photographs taken, and 
even shaking up their ancient grandmothers 
to come in and join the family group ; the 
kerosene can everywhere in evidence, iron 

seabed, or lake-bed, plentifully strewn with 
shells, over w T hich we were travelling. Thence 
we worked our way east to the great Salton 
Lake, the actual bottom of the bowl, two 
hundred and eighty-five feet below sea-level. 
We were now, indeed, in a true desert, a 
scene of utter lifelessness and desolation, 
where not even a solitary cactus grew or an 
errant lizard stirred. Far as vision ranged 
was the white, glistening surface of the salt- 
pan. But here, as everywhere, has come the 
indomitable white man — yonder trail of black 
smoke on the horizon is from a locomotive 
hauling a load of crystals to the salt works 
on the margin of the waste. 

Fftrm a Phoio, &yj 


KX C. Pierce. 

stoves cooking in front of brushwood shelters, 
slab houses with shingle roofs in process of 
building; ramshackle buggies with Ramon 
and Ramona on their way to the nearest 
railroad store for groceries, a cheerful reply 
in tolerable English to our passing u good- 
day/' and other signs of on sweeping Ameri- 
can civilization. Theme for regret or for 
congratulation ? The poet will say the one 
thing, the utilitarian the other. But w T ho can 
know the real truth ? Was the simple savage 
of Indian Well camped on a sand dune five 
hundred years ago, clothed in a blanket and 
living on mesquite beans, a happier mortal 
than his descendant of to-day who wears a 
tweed suit and reads a newspaper? Only 
the recording angel can make answer. 

From the Indian reservation we visited the 
so-called "coral reef,' 1 a well-defined water- 
mark that runs straight as a ruled line along 
the mountain range to the south of the old 

At this point we turn round the team for 
home. Our last look back is on the mirage 
that from a distance transforms the snow- 
white plain into a lake of limpid blue, in 
which the shadows of the fringing rocks are 
reflected with rare beauty and truly marvellous 

For about thirty miles we keep close to 
the railway line, passing through the towns 
of Walters, Thermal, and Coachella, where, 
with the tapping of abundant artesian water, 
irrigation colonies are springing into existence. 

At Coachella we found " the most low- 
down paper on earth," as the sheet describes 
itself. The explanation of this self-slander 
lies in the fact that the place of publication 
happens to be seventy-six feet beneath sea- 
level But the Submarine is a bright little 
weekly, with a fine touch of !. amour in its 
very name. The ^rli*or plavs the game right 



arranges his news under such headings as 
" Along the Coral Strand/' " With the Mer- 
maids/' "McGinty's Musings "— McGinty, 
I believe, being a lyrical hero who per- 

merely provoked a laugh of incredulity. So 
we packed our waggon and stole on our 
homeward way, leaving behind us a trail of 

Frvm a rKoto, hy <J> Ct Pierce. 

formed some such feat as " dropping to the 
bottom of the deep blue sea/' 

Altogether the Submarine* as showing the 
world how wit and good spirits can survive 
even desert heat, commands our respect — 
much as our old friend the mesquite, or the 
lean and leathery and sadly misunderstood 
coyote, who, with hunger ever at his elbow, 
has to scrub so hard for a living. 

We were in a populated country now, and 
to our camp-fire each night strolled inquiring 
residents. With thoroughly characteristic 
American blunt ness came the almost in- 
variable series of questions :— 

" Are you looking for land ? " 

" Are you prospecting ? n 

"Are you a Government party? " 

When negative replies had been returned 
to all three queries, there followed inevitably 
the amazed demand : — 

" Then what in thunder are you doing 
here ? " 

We soon discovered that such explanations 
as "sunshine/* " scenery, Jl or ' ' a hoi i day " 

Even the genial editor of the Submarine 
bade us good-bye with a wronged and a 
doubting look in his eyes. Had we struck 
gold on the Sal ton salt-pan, or discovered a 
pearling bed beneath the coral reef? Had 
we found a new remedy for tuberculosis in 
the sap of a cactus, or pegged off the site 
for an hotel and sanatorium in the Thou- 
sand Palm Canyon ? Had we wrung from 
the Stem, grim desert yet another of its 
many secrets and wealth - bestowing 
potentialities ? And, having done any or 
all of these things, were we deliberately 
robbing the enterprising local newspaper 
of its legitimate journalistic "scoop"? But 
if the editor of the Submarine ever chances 
to read these lines he will know that we 
wronged him not ; that the day may come 
when he will require a special shipping 
column, in which will be recorded the 
passenger lists of the numerous pleasure 
craft sailing — on wheels, and with mule- 
power engines — in and out of these magic 
desert seas. 

by Google 

Original from 

A Woman In It. 

By Florence Warden, 

Author of " The House on the Marsh" etc. 

NEAT little brougham drove 
up to the door of Tolkington 
and Smee's, the well-known 
Regent Street jewellers, and a 
gentleman stepped out. 

He was between sixty and 
seventy years of age, tall, dignified, and well- 
dressed, with that indescribable "something 
about him " which is usually defined as "a 
military appearance." He had mild blue 
eyes, the wrinkles round which were such as 
to give him a kindly expression, and a long, 
drooping moustache which was still only 
slightly tinged with grey, though his close- 
cropped, glossy hair was nearly white. 

He walked slowly, with the help of an 
ebony stick with a gold crutch handle, and 
ran his eye over the contents of the show- 
window without appearing satisfied at any- 
thing he saw there. Then he hesitated in 
the doorway, looked back at the brougham, 
and did not make up his mind to enter the 
shop until he caught the eye of an assistant 
who was showing a lady out, and who held 
the door open after her departure, as if 
inviting the gentleman to come in. 

Then he made up his mind, entered, and 
said : — 

" I'm afraid it's not of much use for me to 
trouble you, but I have a daughter who has 
taken a fancy to the idea of a diamond 
bracelet in the form of a serpent. It seems 
to me an uncanny notion, and I don't 
suppose you have anything of the sort." 

" I'm not sure that we have a bracelet in 
that particular design, but the lady is quite 
right in thinking that such a design is made. 
We could have it done for you ourselves if 
you liked. If you will allow me, sir, I'll 
speak to our manager, and in the meantime 
perhaps you will look at some other designs. 
We have a very handsome one that I 
should like to show you." 

The gentleman smiled and shook his 

" I don't suppose it will be of any use," 
he said. " I have a very autocratic young 
lady to deal with, and my taste is supposed 
to be inferior. However, you may show it 
to me if you like." 

He took the seat offered him, and not only 

saw the bracelet in question and three or 
four more, but bought one for which he paid 
fifty guineas. 

In the meantime the manager, a tall young 
man with a well-bred manner and decidedly 
distinguished appearance, came to interview 
him on the matter of the specially-designed 
ornament. After a little discussion the 
customer expressed a wish to have some 
designs sent to him to the Hotel Burleigh, 
where he and his daughter were staying. 

He took out his card-case, and putting his 
pencil through the address, " Melborough 
Hall, Lincoln," wrote the name of his hotel 
and his hotel number under his name, " Sir 
Francis Melborough, Bart." 

On his way to the door he stopped. 

" Perhaps," said he, " you had better not 
go to the trouble of making the designs until 
you hear from me again. My daughter is full 
of caprices, and when she gets this bracelet 
she may like it and forget her whim about 
the serpent." 

" It will be no trouble at all, sir, I assure 

The designs were made at once and 
dispatched to the hotel, and on the following 
day a letter came to the firm from Sir Francis 
with an order for the bracelet to be made 
after a chosen design. The letter further 
said that Sir Francis would be glad if Mr. 
Eleham, the gentleman to whom he had 
spoken at the shop, would come to his hotel 
and bring with him some handsome rings, 
preferably set with sapphires. 

Old Mr. Tolkington, the senior partner, 
who was nearly as deaf as a post, and who, 
therefore, had had for some years to content 
himself with a passive part irf the business, 
read the letter and then looked over his 
spectacles at his partner, Mr. Smee, who was 
a stout, rubicund man of middle age, afflicted 
with gout and a short temper. 

" I don't think we'd better send Eleham," 
said Mr. Tolkington. 

" Why not ? " asked his partner, shortly. 

The senior partner, who, with his long, 
lean, stooping figure, cadaverous face, and 
dim but still thoughtful eyes, formed a strong 
contrast to Mr, Sxec, rubbed his chin 





" Don't like hotels. Don 1 ! like daughters/' 
he said, slowly, 

Mr, Smee looked at him with ready 

" What nonsense ! " said he, shortly. M Did 
you see Sir Francis ? n 

Mr. Tolkington went on rubbing his chin. 

" I saw a man who gave us a card bearing 
that name," he answered, cautiously. 

" Well, and didnt he look as if the name 
belonged to him?" 

" He did look as if it might," admitted the 
old jeweller, cautiously. 

li And didn't he pay fifty guineas for some- 
thing he bought here ? " 

Mr, Tolkington waved his long, thin hand. 

w For all that," he said, u I should like you 
to take the rings and not Eleham, You're 
not young and not handsome, Smee, and 
Eleham is both. As they want the hand- 
some young man to go, I think it's safer to 
send you," 

Mr. Smee was no Adonis, certainly, but 
he felt that he had a right to be offended. 
He left the private office in which they were 
talking without answering, and was so very 
much offended that the senior partner finally 
thought it better to relent, and to send the 
young manager to the Hotel Burleigh with 
the rings. 

Mr, Smee, on his side, to make a pretence 
of satisfying his partner's absurd suspicions, 

took the precau- 
tion to look in 
u Whitaker J s Alma- 
nack/' where he 
duly found the 
name of Sir Fran- 
cis Me I borough 
among the baro- 
nets, with the date 
of creation, 1784. 
And he hoped 
Mr, Tolkington 
was satisfied now. 
Mr, Tolkington 
nodded j but did 
not say whether 
he was satisfied or 

When Eric Ele- 
ham, the young 
manager, arrived 
at the Hotel Bur- 
leigh with his 
commonplace little 
brown hide bag 
and asked for Sir 
Francis Mel- 
borough, he was shown into one of the private 
sitting-rooms, where he found his distin- 
guished-looking customer standing on the 
hearthrug with his back to a little fire which 
was burning in the grate, though the month 
was May and the weather not particularly 

On the sofa lay a young and very beautiful 
woman, dressed in a white cashmere morning- 
gown trimmed with a profusion of cream- 
coloured lace, with big bows of pale rose- 
cnlourcd velvet on the sleeves and breast. 

She sat up when the young man entered, 
and remained looking at him without speik- 
ing while her father greeted the visitor. 

Eleham, while answering Sir Francis's 
questions, managed to glance more than 
once at the lady, in whom he recognised a 
customer who had purchased some small 
silver trays a few days before, He had been 
struck at that time with the beauty of her 
large light eyes, the perfection of her profile, 
and the pale gold colour of her hair, 
which contrasted with the clearly-marked 
dark eyebrows. 

And he remembered that she was tall, of a 
good figure and remarkably graceful carriage, 
altogether the sort of woman whose appear- 
ance cannot easily be forgotten, 

" Well, Ella/' said Sir Francis, when the 
young marp,^f}-| i y|pfcpfl^ his bag and pro- 

duce tifii^»wfifckw^ lI tliink 



we can find something to please you here, 
can't we ? " 

With a careless manner and off-hand tone 
the lady got up, and walking slowly to the 
table took up a ring in which was one 
splendid emerald of good size and good 
colour, and placed it on her finger. 

" They're all very handsome," she said, 
indifferently, " but really I don't want ar y of 
them. Richard is going to give me more 
jewellery than I want, as it is." 

" It isn't so much a question of what you 
want as of what is becoming to a woman of 
your position when she marries," said her 
father, in a tone of rebuke. " Sir Francis 
Melborough's daughter must have jewels on 
her marriage, and they must be of the 

Eric Eleham smiled. 

" I don't think you can have any fault to 
find with the quality of what we sell, Sir 
Francis," said he. 

"To be sure not, to be sure not. This 
one is the prettiest ring I have seen for a long 

And as he spoke he took up a half-hoop 
of sapphires, with points of diamonds. 

" I don't care for sapphires. If I must 
have one I'll have this," said Ella. 

And taking off the emerald ring she placed 
it on the table apart from the others. Sir 
Francis turned to the manager and smiled. 

" You don't often have lady customers 
who can make up their minds as quickly as 
that, do you ? " he said. 

His daughter laughed. 

" No, Sir Francis, indeed we do not," said 
the young man, smiling, and turning with 
another glance at the beautiful Ella, who was 
looking at him with unmistakable interest. 

" Pay for it then, papa," said she. " I 
decide on the big emerald." 

Eric Eleham put the rest of the rings back 
into the bag, and Sir Francis took out a 
pocket-book and asked the price of the ring. 
Hearing that it was two hundred pounds, he 
began to count out his notes and gold, and 
then said : — 

" May you take a cheque ? " 

"Oh, yes, Sir Francis, from you," answered 
Eleham, who had made some inquiries down- 
stairs, with the caution impressed upon him 
by Mr. Tolkington. By this time he had his 
bag, repacked, in his hand and was ready 
to go. 

While he was signing a receipt Sir 
Francis took up the bag. 

" What ! " said he, " do you mean to say 
you carry all that valuable property in a 

Digitized by CjOOQ I C 

Vol. xxix. 

miserable little bag like this without even a 
special lock?" 

The young man smiled. 

" Sometimes I carry as much as five or six 
thousand pounds' worth of diamonds and 
other stones in it," he answered. " Our 
theory is that a common bag like that is far 
less likely to attract unwelcome attention 
than one made expressly for carrying valuable 

" That's ingenious, certainly." 

" And of course I don't walk. I came 
from door to door in a hansom, and I shall 
return in the same way." 

A moment later he had taken the cheque, 
given the receipt, and was outside and on 
his way downstairs. 

Three or four days later another commu- 
nication reached the firm from Sir Francis, 
who desired that some tiaras might be 
brought by Mr. Eleham to show to his 

The cheque had been duly honoured, and 
the firm began to congratulate themselves on 
such a good customer, and the bag which the 
young man brought to the hotel contained 
on this occasion some thousands of pounds' 
worth of splendid gems. 

Sir Francis was as genial as ever, his 
daughter lovelier than before in an indoor 
dress of lavender silk, with a girdle of velvet 
some shades darker. Her pale golden hair 
was elaborately dressed, and when she placed 
one of the tiaras upon her head the young 
man could not help being struck with her 
regal appearance. She carried her beautiful 
head, indeed, as if she had been used to wear 
a crown ; and remembering how many fugitive 
princesses he had heard of as flitting about 
Europe at the present time, it occurred 
suddenly to him to wonder whether this 
woman, mysterious in her dazzling beauty, 
were one of them. 

She, however, was critical, and by no 
means so much impressed with her own 
appearance as he was. 

" I don't like these great belts and bands 
of diamonds," said she. " I should like 
something more artistic. This looks merely 
as if I wanted to show how many big stones 
I could put on my head." 

" You are quite right, madam," said he. 
" But we have to please all tastes. Now, 
the American and African ladies like the 
sort of thing you have on for that very 

" But the man I'm going to marry is a 
nobleman, not an African millionaire," said 
the lady, smiling, " so he will be able to 
Original from 




afford a little simplicity in his wife's tastes* 
Show me something I shall really like," 

Eleham produced a beautiful ornament, 
consisting of a spray of leaves rising high at 
one side of the head and tapering off with 
tendrils and leaf- buds towards the front 
The lady was delighted, and decided upon it 
at once. 

11 Put away your great fenders and chande- 
lier pendants," said she. " I shall see nothing 
I like so well as this if I go half over London. " 

Sir Francis, however, was not so well 
pleased. The ornament was pretty, but 
looked mean, he thought. He was not 
allowed to influence the wilful lady, and 
he wrote out a 
cheque for five 
pounds while 
Eleham re- 
packed his 

Klla went 
from one mirror 
to the other 
and surveyed 
herself from all 
points of view. 
The cheque 
was given, the 
receipt made 
out, and Ele- 
ham had bowed 
and made his 
way to the door 
when a cry 
from the lady 
arrested his 
steps Turning, 
ke 9&w that the 
diamond spray 
had fallen from 
its place on her 
head and was 
dangling in her 
fair hair, 

<* Allow me," 
said Eleham, 
starting for- 
ward, as she as instinctively turned to him 
for help. 

It was a delicate matter to disentangle the 
little tendrils from the tair hair, and the task 
was an exciting one. When at last he suc- 
ceeded and placed the ornament in her hand 
she rewarded him with a brilliant smile aixl a 
glance of her blue eyes which set his pulses 

Digitized by Google 


Not only did she smile, but she even con- 
descended to hold out her hand. He felt as 
if the touch had been that of a princess, and, 
picking up his bag quickly, he went out of 
the room and down the stairs, less master of 
himself than a man of business ought to be 
at the conclusion of a good day's deal. 

Even when he reached the shop and 
handed the cheque to Mr. Tolkington in the 
dark little back office where the senior 
partner usually spent his days watching what 
went on in the shop through a little peep- 
hole of his own contriving, Eleham was 
thinking more of the lady than of the trans- 
action he had just successfully accomplished, 

Mr, Tolking- 
ton took the 
cheque and the 
bag with a nod, 
and the young 
man went out. 
A few min- 
utes later there 
was a long ting- 
ling from the 
senior partner's 
electric bell, 
An assistant 
went quickly 
towards the 
office, but not 
before the door 
had been flung 
open and old 
Mr. Tolking- 
ton, his face 
grey rather than 
white, appeared 
in the door- 

Where's Mr, 
Eleham ? " he 
cried, with a 
sudden sharp- 
ness of lone 
which set all 
the assistants 
" He's just gone out, sir." 
" Out ! Gone out ! " The gaunt old 
figure came forward a step or two, and there 
was a sort of " creepy " sensation about the 
nerves of hi* employes as they noted the 
glassy look m his eyes. "Go after him! 
Find him ! Fetch him back ! And where — 
where's Mr. Smee?" 

The junior partner^^i^ had been within 





hearing, came forward without a word, led 
the old man back into the office, and closed 
the door. 

" What is it ? " said he. 

For answer the senior partner pointed with 
a trembling finger to the bag, which stood 
open upon the table. Beside it, in folds of 
crumpled tissue paper, were half-a-dozen 
cheap cases containing articles of the com- 
monest sham jewellery. 

" I — I don't understand," stammered Mr. 
Smee, turning pale. 

The elder man, who could scarcely speak 
for rage, whispered, hoarsely : — 

" Eleham ! Where's Eleham ? Find him ! 

I must see him ! Find him, I say ! This 
comes of letting a young fool go instead — 

instead " He glared across the table at 

his partner, and hissed out with savage 
meaning, " instead of an old one ! " 

Mr. Smee's red face lost its colour. 

" Do — do — you mean that— that " 

"I mean that this is what your young 
jackanapes of a manager has brought back 
instead of nearly seven thousand pounds' 
worth of di — di — diamonds ! " cried Mr. 
Tolkington, gnashing his false teeth with rage. 

" What ! Do you mean " 

" 1 mean that he's been tricked by a parcel 
of knaves, and that we've got to pay for his 
infernal stupidity ! " replied Mr. Tolkington, 
who rarely used strong language, but whose 
feelings on this occasion carried him away. 
"And this is the donkey you wanted to — 
to — to make a partner of ! " 

His voice went up to a squeak of indigna- 
tion on the last word. 

For, indeed, Mr. Smee, who had a rather 
wild young son whom he wanted to succeed 
him in the business, had suggested that the 
sedate and steady Eleham might serve as 
ballast to the firm in the generation to 

" We must send for the police at once," 
said Smee. 

And as he spoke he touched the bell. 

" And, of course, we must hear what 
Eleham has to say." 

" He's gone out ! " retorted Mr. Tolking- 
ton, in the same husky whisper. 

"Out I" 

And as Mr. Smee turned round and faced 
his partner, the same idea came into both 
their minds at the same moment. 

"Well, of course," said Mr. Tolkington, 

II he may have gone to his luncheon." 
There was a moment's dead silence, which 

even the entrance of one of the assistants, 
come to answer the summons, did not break. 

Then Mr. Smee, gouty, but impatient and 
impetuous, hobbled out into the shop, unable 
to wait. 

And as he went in by the inner door the 
outer door opened, and there entered, walking 
at his usual leisurely pace and wearing his 
usual air of genial amiability, the distin- 
guished-looking but suspicious customer, Sir 
Francis Melborough. 

.Mr. Tolkington saw him too. Watching 
through his peep-hole in the dark back- 
ground he saw Sir Francis saunter in, look to 
left and right, and, recognising Mr. Smee, 
walk straight up to him and say, in his well- 
bred undertones : — 

" I've been sent by my daughter to ask 
whether you can get her a spray for the 
bodice of similar pattern to the hair orna- 
ment she bought this morning." 

Poor Mr. Smee was struck dumb. At the 
first moment he could think of nothing better 
than to fly at his customer's throat, pin him 
to the counter, and accuse him of the theft 
of the jewels. The next he fell into a sort 
of stupor of uneasy bewilderment, unable to 
believe that this frank, well-bred, well-to-do 
gentleman could really have had anything to 
do with the robbery. 

He stammered, grew redder, nay, purpler 
than ever, and gasping out, " I'll — I'll ask 
Mr. — Mr. Tolkington," he fairly turned tail 
and ran, or rather hopped, into the office, 
leaving Sir Francis staring after him through 
his gold double eye-glass, and looking inter 
rogatively at the assistants, as who should say, 
" Is this man sane ? Is he sober ? " 

" What shall we do ? " gasped Smee, when 
he found himself face to face with his partner, 
with a closed door between him and his 
apparently astonished customer. 

Mr. Tolkington did not immediately 
answer. He was staring through his watch- 
hole at Sir Francis, who, after a moment's 
hesitation, took the chair offered him by 
one of the young men, and sat down at 
the silver counter, patiently waiting for the 
return of the excitable Smee. 

Then Tolkington turned to his partner. 
He had made up his mind. 

" We'll have him in here, tell him about 
it, and see how he takes it," said he, briefly. 
" Ask him in to see me. If he won't come, 
we shall know that he's a wrong 'un. If he 
comes, well, we shall see ! " 

Mr. Smee, still purple and feverish, hobbled 
away to give the message. Sir Francis 
looked rather surprised, but rose at once and 
went into the office, where, owing to Mr. 
Tolkington'? deafness, all that he said had to 





said he, " that 
While he was 
go out of his 

out of his hand 

be passed on by the junior to the senior 
partner, who caught the meaning more from 
the movement of the lips than by ear. 

" Sir Francis/' began Mr, Smee, "we sent 
a valuable parcel of jewellery for your inspec- 
tion by the hands of our manager. This is 
what he has brought back." 

And he pointed to the array of cheap cases 
on the table. The baronet put on his gold 
double eye-glass and examined the articles in 
amazement. Then he looked quickly at the 
bag. It was a common brown hide bag, just 
like that in which the real jewels had been 
carried, but whether it was the same or a 
substitute nobody present exactly knew. 

"He's been robbed!" said Sir Francis, 
with decision. 

"Yes," said Mr. Smee. "The question 
by whom. He went to the hotel in 
hansom ; he came back the same way," 

Sir Francis frowned 

J* The astonishing thing is," 
he* was so particularly careful, 
with us he never let the bag 

u He must have let it go 
somewhere/' said Mr. 
Smee, sharply* " Anyhow, 
he won't have the chance 
of carrying one for us 

" What do you mean ? " 
asked Sir Francis. 

" Why, that he will be 
dismissed from his post 
this morning, and that we 
shall send for the police/' 

u I've done that already," 
said Mr. Tol king ton, in 
whose mind his first sus- 
picions of his customer 
were melting under the 
influence of that gentle- 
man's bewilderment. 

" May I stay here until 
the police come ? " asked 
the baronet, li I can't 
help feeling a deep interest 
in the case and in this 
poor fellow's misfortune, 
and if my evidence can 
be of any use I should 
like to express my willing- 
ness to give it in his 

Mr. Tolkington was 
watching at his peep-hole. 
He turned round and 
said, in a low voire, with 

Digitized by 

the air of a giant spider ready to pounce : 
" Here he is, Mr. Smee ; would you fetch 
him in?" 

There was a moment's breathless silence 
as the junior partner hobbled out, and with 
a brief word ushered the young man into the 
office. It was Mr- Tolkington who undertook 
the office of accuser. 

"You've been robbed," said he, harshly, 
as soon as the door was closed. 

Eleham did not seem to understand. 

11 Robbed !" echoed he, vaguely, glancing 
from Mr, Tolkington's grey, angry face, first 
at that of Mr. Smee, purple and tremulous, 
and then at the anxious, kindly countenance 
of the baronet 

"That trash," went on Mr. Tolkington, 
pointing with a shaking hand to the litter on 
the table, "is what you have brought back 
to us in place of nearly seven thousand 
pounds' worth of diamonds ! " 

Eleham stared stupidly at the cases on the 
table, and then looked up wonderingly at 
Sir Francis. What had he got to do with 
it ? What did it all mean ? 

u Do you mean to say, 1 ' he asked, slowly, 


uTTHit oN.^fRqqffg^from 





after a short pause, " that the bag I gave you 
just now did not contain the jewels I took 
from here this morning ? " 

"That's just what we do mean," said 
Mr. Smee. 

Eleham, with a flash of the eye, looked 
straight at the baronet. 

"Sir Francis, what do you know about 
this ? " he asked, shortly. 

Sir Francis frowhed, amazed at his tone, 
and both the partners moved uneasily and 
began to protest. But Eleham went on. 

" I had the jewels safe when I entered 
your sitting-room," said he, " and I came 
straight back in a cab without meeting or 
speaking to anybody. If they're gone it is 
you, Sir Francis, who must know how and 
where they went." 

Sir Francis stared at him steadily for a 
moment and then turned slowly to Mr. 

" Does he drink ? " was all he said. 

But the cold, cutting tone, the dignified* 
manner, combined to make the short sentence 
absolutely effective. 

" I had not known of it till this moment," 
said Mr. Smee, quickly, " but really I begin 
to think he does." 

Eleham brought his fist down with a crash 
upon the table, making all the wretched little 
cases containing the sham jewellery clatter 
and jump about. 

" You know that's a lie ! " said he. " You 
know that I do not drink ; you know that I 
am neither careless nor untrustworthy. Why 
do you believe the word of a stranger against 

Sir Francis, putting up his hand to check 
the partners' interference, said, quietly : — 

" It's not a question of belief, Mr. Eleham; 
it's a question of fact. I suppose you don't 
accuse me of stealing your diamonds ? " 

The tone of supercilious amazement, quiet 
and restrained, with which he put the 
question made even Eleham hesitate to 
make his accusation more pointed. 

" I say," he repeated, stubbornly, " that 
I took the whole of the jewellery into your 
sitting-room, and that I brought straight 
back here the bag that I took out of your 

" Do you mean that it was changed in my 
skting-room ? " asked the baronet, in the 
same mocking tone. 

Eleham did not answer. 

Before he could do so, indeed, there was a 
tap at the door, and an assistant informed 
Mr. Smee, who went to speak with him, that 
a policeman had come. 

Mr. Smee informed his partner of the fact, 
and the other two men caught the whispered 

" I'm quite ready to answer any charge 
you may wish to make against me," cried 
Eleham, his handsome face flushed and his 
eyes alight with anger as well as dismay. 

But the baronet interfered. Putting up 
his hand deprecatingly, he said in a low 
voice to the junior partner : — 

" Don't do anything rash, I beg. You have 
no wish to ruin this young man for what was 
certainly no worse than an unhappy accident 
Give me leave to say that you have in part 
brought this loss upon yourselves by your 
system of carrying valuable property in bags 
which are so common that the substitution 
of one for another can be effected without 
difficulty. I am certain that your young 
manager was followed and watched, and that 
a bag containing the mock jewellery was sub- 
stituted for his own at the first opportunity. 
Wait until he is calmer and cooler, and you 
will probably learn when the exchange 
occurred. You will almost certainly find that 
for one moment he put down the bag some- 
where " 

Eleham interrupted him by an exclama- 

" I may have done so," he admitted, sud- 
denly. " I don't recollect it, but I admit I 
may have put down the bag for one moment 
between leaving your room and coming out 
of the hotel. But if I did so, I certainly did 
it when there was nobody near." 

All three men looked at each other with a 
gesture which said emphatically that the truth 
was discovered. 

The baronet took immediate advantage of 
the opening for mercy. 

" Now," said he, " we have something to 
go upon. Just tell the police everything, 
and leave the matter in their hands." He 
took out his card-case. " If they would like 
to come and see me about it, I will give them 
what little information I can. At least, I can 
speak to the extreme caution and prudence of 
this gentleman. And I hope, gentlemen," he 
added, as he went slowly towards the door, 
" that you will reconsider your decision, and 
allow Mr. Eleham to continue to occupy his 
present position until this unhappy matter is 
cleared up." 

With these words he went out of the 
office, leaving the partners in a state of 
indecision, and Eleham boiling with rage 
and disgust. 

"Aren't you going to have that man 
arrested ar> a thief?" asked he, shortly, as 




the door closed. "As sure as my name's 
Eleham, it was he who changed the bag." 

" If so, the police will find it out," said 
Mr. Tolkington, drily. 

He had been looking through his peep- 
hole, and had seen Sir Francis go straight 
up to the police-officer waiting in the shop, 
and make a communication to him before 
going out. 

How on earth, in the face of such openness 
and even generosity, could he do anything 
but accept the situation, and leave the matter 
to the police ? Mr. Tolkington turned to his 

"Show in the officer," said he. "Mr. 
Eleham, kindly state the facts — all the facts 
— to him as fully as possible." 

Ten minutes later Eleham, having given a 
detailed account of his visit to the hotel, not 
omitting the incident of the falling hair 
ornament and of his leaving the bag for a 
moment on the table while he went to the 
lady's assistance, had left the office, and the 
partners, having conferred with the officer, 
had decided to take Sir Francis's advice, and 
to leave the young manager in his situation 
for the present. 

"If he's had anything to do with this 
business himself," was the officer's shrewd 
comment, " you're more likely to find it out 
by keeping him in your employ than by 
sending him away." 

It was not, however, possible that the 
relations between the partners and their 
manager should be so cordial after as they 
were before the unpleasant incident with 
which he had had so unhappy a connection. 
Although it was kept out of the papers, 
there were rumours, inevitably spread by the 
assistants in the shop, which affected both 
the partners and their manager. 

On the very next day Eleham received a 
letter of invitation from the baronet, who 
wrote in the kindest tone, expressing his 
i egret that the young man should feel re- 
sentment towards him, although it must 
be plain that he had taken his part through- 
out the unhappy affair of the loss of the 
jewels. Eleham, reflecting on this letter, 
arrived at the conclusion that it showed they 
had not done with him yet, and, in the 
hope that he might be able to set a trap for 
them in return for the one they had set for 
him, he answered, accepting the invitation, 
and . presented himself that . evening at the. 
hotel, where he was overwhelmed with 
sympathy and attention by both the baronet 
and his daughter. 

If Ella had looked handsome by daylight, 

Digitized by tjOOgle 

in her simple morning dress, she looked more 
beautiful still in white silk, which allowed the 
beauty of her white arms and neck to be 
seen. She wore no jewels, but a few pearls 
of no great value, and Eleham felt rather 
grateful that she did not revive too poignant 
recollections of his misfortune by the display 
of the diamonds he had sold to her. 

With charming tact, neither father nor 
daughter made any mention of the loss of 
the jewels, but both vied with each other in 
kindness and courtesy until he began to feel 
ashamed of his own suspicions and to think 
that, after all, he must have been mistaken. 

This impression was deepened upon sub- 
sequent visits to the hotel, and from holding 
himself on his guard and waiting for a sign 
of the cloven hoof to peep out, Eleham had 
begun to believe that he was wrong, and that 
he himself was a contemptible fellow to have 
accepted their hospitality in the character of 
spy, when at last, one evening after dinner, 
when Ella — on this occasion resplendent 
with rubies and diamonds — had just lighted 
his cigarette for him, and was sitting beside 
him on a sofa, she let fall a few artless words 
which could not but give him pause. 

" I should so like," said she, dreamily, " to 
see what you do with your splendid stock of 
diamonds and things at night ; how you hide 
them away and keep them safe." 

" My dear, they're all locked up, of course," 
said the baronet, who was enjoying his own 
cigar in an easy-chair not far off. 

Eleham had said nothing, but he had con- 
cealed the flash of new suspicion which 
darted through his % mind. 

" Of course, I know that," said Ella. " But 
I should awfully like to see exactly what you 
do and how you do it. Do you keep your 
safes in the shop, or in the office at the back, 
or in the cellar ? " 

"They're not all put in the same safe," 
said Eleham, trying not to answer with any 
appearance of caution. 

" And who locks them up and unlocks 
them ? Do you ? " said she, with the frivolous 
unconcern of a spoilt pretty woman, who 
expects her least question to be answered 
without delay or reserve. 

" Sometimes I do." 

" You have duplicate keys, I suppose ? " 

" Yes." 

" And, oi course, it's always you who have 
to take out the things in the .morning ! I'm 
sure neither of those respectable old gentle- 
men I've seen would have energy enough 
to come to business very early in the 





It was a shrewd guess* and Eleham smiled. 
He admitted that it was his duty to arrive 
first, to let himself in by the side-door, and 
to see that all was safe. And then she began 
to coax and to try to persuade him to let her 
into the shop some night and show her 
exactly where he put the jewels and how 
he kept them, 

Eleham excused himself as well as he 
could, while Sir Francis affected to laugh 
heartily at her persistency and to be amused 
at the steadiness with which he assured her 
that he should be delighted, if only she 
would obtain the permission of the partners 

Eleham felt while this ordeal lasted that 
only the memory of his duty to his 
employers kept him steady under the fire 
of Ella's brilliant blue eyes and the coaxing 
persuasiveness of her voice. She tried her 
blandishments with even more daring when 
Sir Francis left the room to get some more 
cigars ; but Eleham, with his brain on fire, 
stood firm, with the knowledge that he was 
in the hands of a pair of adventurers. 

Eleham wondered whether he was being 
shadowed when, on driving up in his hansom 
10 the door of the mansions where both the 
partners lived, he saw that another hansom 
m waiting outside, and that, just before he 
reached the flat occupied by the partners, 
another visitor was admitted. 

Who this was he could not see. But he 
was kept waiting for some time in the little 

drawing-room, and it was not until he had 
heard the outer door of the flat open and 
close again that the door of the room opened, 
and both Mr. Smee and Mr. Tolkington 
came in together, 

Eleham was confounded by the dry smile 
which appeared on both their faces when he 
told them what had brought him there, 

" Thank you very much, Mr. Eleham," 
said the junior partner, when he had told 
them of Ella's anxiety to obtain an entrance 
into the premises at night and to inspect the 
arrangements for the safe keeping of the 
stock- " All that information is very valuable 
— very valuable indeed. If you were a paid 
detective you could not be more enterprising," 

Eleham was struck dumb, 

"At the same time," went on Mr, Tolking- 
ton, taking up the tale even more drily than 
his partner, " it is always better for a man to 
keep to his own department. We have, as 
you know, Mr. Eleham, treated you with 
great indulgence. But prudence puts a limit 
even to mercy. And as you have chosen to 
turn upon the people who have befriended 
you in this affair, I think it will be better for 
you to find a situation where your various 
talents are more appreciated. Will you kindly 
take three months' notice, Mr. Eleham ? And 
if you can find an opening before the end of 
that period, we should be glad to shorten it 
at your convenience." 

There was no arguing against the steely 
determination the young man saw in the 




cold eyes of the old one. He understood 
how he had been outwitted by Sir Francis, 
who was, he could not doubt, the visitor who 
had preceded him, and who had cleverly 
contrived to warn the partners of the sort of 
errand on which the young manager was 
coming to them. 

It was in a state of desperation that he 
bowed — after only the faintest attempt at 
making explanations, to whic& neither of the 
partners would listen — and went slowly 

He realized now the full extent of his 
danger, and with this full knowledge came a 
determination which strengthened with every 
step he took. 

He went straight home and wrote the 
following letter to Sir Francis : — 

Dear Sir Francis,— I regret exceedingly that I 
should have appeared so ' ungracious as I must have 
done in refusing the request of Miss Melborough. I 
confess I thought at the time that it would have been 
more proper to apply to the partners for permission to 
inspect the business premises at night than to me. I 
have, however, been treated so badly by them, in 
being given notice to leave their employment without 
any reason, that I feel anxious not to show want of 
gratitude to those who are my real friends. If Miss 
Melborough will let me know on what evening and at 
what hour she would like to go over the premises I 
will bring her my keys myself. — Yours very truly, 
Eric Eleham. 

He posted this at once, and on the follow- 
ing evening he got this reply : — 

Dear Eleham, — We are much pleased with your 
kindness, and you shall find in me a valuable friend 
when your present engagement is at an end. I can 
get you a berth in a Paris house, where you will be 
treated with all the consideration which your merits 
deserve. My daughter is going to a dance to-night, 
so we shall be rather late. But perhaps that will not 
matter. If you can meet us at Piccadilly Circus at 
2.30 we will walk up the street together. We shall 
be in a brougham with a grey horse, and shall 
stop opposite Swan and Edgar's. — Yours, Francis 

Punctual to the minute, Eleham found 
the brougham with the grey horse at the 
Circus that night, but only Ella stepped out. 
She was wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, under 
which she held up her long black dress ; and 
her head was enveloped in a hood of black 

" Papa will join us farther up the street," 
she said. " He's come from his club and I 
from my dance, and I told him to meet us 
on foot." 

They walked up Regent Street, Ella very 
chatty and charming, Eleham rather silent 
and preoccupied. They reached the shop of 
Tolkington and Smee, and Ella led the way 
up the passage to the side-door. 

" Don't let us wait for papa," said she, 

Digitized by GOOQlC 

" It looks as if we were burglars if we hang 
about near a jeweller's, doesn't it ? " 

"Yes," said Eleham, as he took out a 
small key and fitted it into the specially 
made lock of the side-door. 

Ella was nervous, he could see, in spite of 
her flow of small talk. She looked to right 
and left as the door opened, and then, as 
Eleham threw it open, she stepped upon the 

"There he is, I think," she cried, not in a 
loud voice, but very distinctly. 

The next moment a tall, thin man had 
appeared from some unseen corner, and, 
darting past Ella and Eleham, entered the 

The latter did not utter a word, however, 
but only looked at Ella, who, with a little 
exclamation, had stepped inside the door. 

Eleham relocked it at once. 

She turned round. 

Probably some suspicion entered her mind, 
for she drew a long breath and said : — 

" What are you doing ? What have you 

" It wouldn't do to leave the door open, 
would it ? " he said, as he motioned to her to 
go down the passage. " We had better find 
out who that man is who ran past us, hadn't 

" But — papa ! " stammered Ella, who, by 
the electric light which Eleham had turned 
on in the passage, was looking very pale. 

" We needn't trouble our heads about him, 
I think." 

Suddenly she stood firm. 

" You mean to throw in your lot with us, 
don't you ? " she said, with sudden peremptori- 
ness. " You can't do better, I give you my 

" What do you want me to do ? " 

" Give me your keys, the keys of the safes. 

" Tell me first who that man is ? " 

" I'll tell you everything presently. We've 
no time to lose." 

With a spasm of horror at the knowledge 
that this beautiful woman was a professional 
thief, Eleham handed her his bunch of keys 
and saw her feverish clutch at them. 

He had laid his hand upon her arm, with 
the intention of telling her to escape while 
there was yet time, and to leave her accom- 
plice to his fate, when she, too quick for him, 
stepped back sharply, and putting to her lips 
a little gold whistle, which she wore dangling 
from a long, thin gold chain, blew on it 
three times. 

And there sprang out from the end of the 




passage the tall, thin, dark man, with a stout 
iron (Tii\vh;ir in his hand. 

But Eleham was prepared In his turn 
he put a whistle to his lips, blew once, with 
a shrill, sharp sound, and the next moment 
he and the man were engaged in a tussle so 
grim that even Ella, used as she probably 
was to encounters of this sort, uttered a low 
cry of horror as they wrestled and fought, up 

ing to his feet, was in time to see the dark 
man seized in his turn and pinioned against 
the wall by two policemen in plain clothes 
who had been concealed on the premises. 

At the same moment there appeared at a 
door in the passage the faces of the two 
partners, Tolkington and Smee. 

Eleham turned to them, gasping. 

" Now — -nuw — you'll believe me," said he. 


and down the passage, struggling for posses- 
sion of the iron har and each doing his best 
to throw the other 

But it was two to one. Suddenly Eleham 
felt himself attacked from behind as well as 
in front, and knew that it was the white, 
strong fingers of the woman that were round 
his throat, throttling, choking him. Gasping, 
struggling, he had to relax his grip on the 
man ; and the next moment, pulled by the 
woman, tripped up by the man, he had fallen 
heavily to the floor. 

Quick as thought Ella handed the keys to 
her confederate. 

"Get to your work. Get to the safes," 
cried she. " I'll keep him quiet." 

But Eleham saw the handkerchief in her 
hand, smelt the sickly smell of the drug with 
which it was saturated, and, suddenly spring- 


Ella uttered a scream of anger and amaze- 

"You've — you've betrayed me, betrayed 
us ! " panted she, her handsome face trans- 
formed with fury till it looked like that of a 

But Eleham, sick and faint, was incapable 
of answering her. 

Although he had known that these two 
specious, gentle, attractive creatures were 
— must be — thieves and adventurers of no 
commonly astute type, yet the absolute 
knowledge of the fact was overwhelming all 
the same. In particular there was something 
repulsive about th ; fact that he had had to 
help in the unmasking of the woman whose 
beauty was so undeniable, whose charm was 

"SKOrigjnalirQBL ., . 

^M§?m6ft?lcteff 1 • hoarKl >•' no, 



to her but to Mr. Smee, who was already 
grasping his hand in contrite reconciliation. 
" I couldn't do anything but give them up to 
you, though it's a hateful thing to have to do." 

" Of course you couldn't. And you must 
forgive us for being such fools as not to 
believe you before." 

Meanwhile old Mr. Tolkington was peering 
with curiosity into the face of the tall, dark 
man, whom the police had by this time 
secured, while one of their number kept 
watch and ward over the lady. 

" And whom have we here ? I don't know 
this man," said he. 

The prisoner, who was breathing heavily, 
shifted his eyes, and would not look him in 
the face. 

"And where's the third rascal — the 
baronet ? " asked Mr. Smee. 

" I think," said Eleham, suddenly, when 
he had looked intently at the tall, dark man 
for a few seconds, "that there is no third 
rascal. I think he is Sir Francis Melborough, 
baronet, of Melborough Hall, Lincoln." 

The partners uttered an exclamation, and 
the prisoner darted a savage glance at the 
young man. 

" I — I don't understand," said Mr. Smee. 

Then one of the police-officers spoke. 

" Probably, sir," said he, " we shall under- 
stand a good deal more than we do now 
when we have made a thorough search of 
their quarters at the hotel." 

Both prisoners started at these words, but 
escape was out of the question. 

The officer was right. Not only were the 
well-made white " transformation " and the 
military drooping moustache found at the 
hotel, but a good deal of stolen jewellery 
was found there also. 

A remand having been granted on the 
appearance of the prisoners before the magis- 
trate in the morning, inquiries were at once 
set on foot by the police, which resulted in 
the discovery that they had their hands on 
two of the cleverest jewel thieves in the 

Never committing more than one robbery 

in a twelvemonth, these two, who were 
husband and wife, took the whole of Europe 
for their field of operations, and lived 
royally on the proceeds of their crimes. 

In Vienna, in Paris, in Rome, in Berlin 
they had made a haul within the past half- 
dozen years. Always giving an aristocratic 
name carefully chosen in the real peerage, 
always laying their plans with care and 
selecting only one jeweller in each town 
as a victim, they had never before been 

The real Sir Francis Melborough being in 
South America, they had availed themselves 
of the fact to act in London under the shelter 
of his name, and so artfully had the male 
swindler thrown doubts upon Eleham's 
honesty that it was the young manager, 
and not the sham baronet, whom the police 
had suspected. 

By a sudden inspiration Eleham, on the 
night previous to the capture, had written 
to "Sir Francis" offering to give up the 
keys of his employers' premises, and by the 
same post to his employers themselves, telling 
them of what he had done, and advising 
them to take any precautions they thought 
necessary to assure themselves of the truth 
of what he told them. 

Then, for the first time, Smee and Tolking- 
ton had asked themselves whether they had 
been on the wrong tack, and whether, in 
taking it for granted that it was their young 
manager, and not their customer, whose 
honesty was in question, they had not been 
making fools of themselves. 

They had sent for the police and secreted 
themselves and the officers upon the 
premises, with the result that Eleham's inno- 
cence and the guilt of the two thieves were 
completely established. 

Not slow to own themselves in the wrong, 
they acknowledged that, if Eleham had been 
tricked easily, so had they. And, far from 
insisting on his resigning his position as 
manager, they themselves asked him to 
retain it — with the prospect of a share in the 
business at no very distant time 

«j by Google 

Original from 

The Life -Story of the Lobster Moth. 

By John J. Ward. 

Illustrated from Original Photographs by the Author. 

HE lobster moth is quite an 
ordinary kind of moth, possess- 
ing no striking features, either 
in colour or form, distinguish- 
ing m S it in essential particulars 
^~ ™ J ^ Sad from the generality of such 
insects. But the first time you find the 
larva or caterpillar of this Insect, you wonder 
what strange animal you have come across j 
for it is probably the oddest and most extra- 
ordinary of British caterpillars. The papular 
name of this insect is indeed derived from 
the fanciful resemblance which its caterpillar 
is supposed to bear to a lobster. 

The lay individual's idea of a caterpillar is, 
generally speaking, a soft, round-bodied grub, 
smooth and 
sometimes hairy, 
with a very in- 
definite number 
of tiny legs* by 
means of which 
it crawls about 
and clings most 
tenaciouslv. The 
larva of the lob- 
ster moth is 
something very 
different, how- 
ever, and pos- 
sesses quite original ideas as to what 
a caterpillar ought to be, both as regards 
anatomical structure and the manner in which 
it should conduct itself generally. 

You have only to touch or irritate one of 
these larvae to get a most surprising demon- 
stration of annoyance; in fact, if you persist 
in teasing it, it gets into a terrible rage, and 
makes such obvious show of its anger that, 
unless you are well acquainted with its 
capabilities, you might think it wise to keep 
just out of its reach. I will endeavour in the 
course of this article to depict, by means of 
photography, the terrifying attitudes assumed 
by one of these caterpillars when angry. 
But I want you first to start with me and 
trace the history of this curious animal from 
its earliest moment - namely, when it leaves 
the egg, and then we shall see the various 
strange tactics it pursues throughout its six or 
sevew weeks of caterpillar life. 

Fig. i. — The eggs of the lobster moth, magnified about twenty-five 

In the first place, the eggs which the 
female moth deposits about oak and beech 
trees are well worth glancing at. They are 
shaped somewhat like a skit tie-ball, and are 
about the twentieth of an inch in diameter, 
of a pearly-white or very pale green colour, 
and their shell surface is beautifully reticulated 
with a delicate network pattern, although the 
latter feature needs the microscope to reveal 
it, In illustration Fig, r two eggs are 
shown as seen by .means of this instrument, 

After the course of a fortnight, or there- 
abouts, from the time these eggs were 
deposited the young larvae emerge, and 
from the moment of their appearance they 
are novelties considered from a caterpillar 

point of view. 
The usual ap- 
pearance of a 
larva after emer- 
gence from the 
egg is that of a 
tiny grub, diffi- 
cult to see, and 
very slow in 
movement. But 
the egg of the 
lobster moth is 
one of the largest 
deposited by 
British moths, 
and immediately its shell breaks there appears 
one of the most lively and quaint little 
animals you c!m possibly imagine — consider- 
ing it is a caterpillar. 

In illustration Fig. 2 two of these cater- 
pillars are shown photographed directly after 
their emergence from the egg. One will be 
seen resting near the base of the central vein, 
or mid-rib, of the leaf, the other on the edge 
of the same leaf — in the characteristic feeding 

The young larva is of a shining or polished 
brown colour, and what makes it look so 
uncaterpi liar-like is that the second and third 
pairs of legs are so long as to seem altogether 
out of proportion with its general anatomy; 
in fact, they look very like legs borrowed 
from some entirely different insect. The 
first of the three pairs of anterior legs — 
which are true legs,_ the clasper-legs being 
used only '-fiijgtlbging purposes during the 




caterpillar stage — are shorter than the second 
and third pairs, and are carried held up in 
front of the head ; the remaining two longer 
pairs keep up a rapid quivering movement, 
with an occasional wave in the air, both 
when the larva is 
walking and hold- 
ing by its claspers, 
ceasing only when 
it is at rest, Then, 
too, it has a curi- 
ously - forked tail % 
which it keeps 
more or less ele- 
vated in the air, 
and along its body 
are a number of 
pointed humps ; 
bat these details 
become more 
obvious as the 
caterpillar gets 
older, for reasons 
which we shall 

Fig. 2.— When the caterpillars of the lobster moth are first hatched they 

resemble ants ; two can be seen in the il lustration, one on the edge and 

another on the central vein of the leaf* 

understand later. 

This incessant quivering and waving of the 
second and third pairs of long legs, and the 
lively way in which the larva moves about, 
combined with its shining brown colour, leave 
a distinct impression that you are looking at 
an ant. Now, ants are insects provided with 
very strong jaws or mandibles, and are well 
able to take care of themselves, gaining much 
respect from would-be enemies on this 
account. It is apparent, therefore, that this 
resemblance to an ant carries with it consider 
able protective advantages for the caterpillar. 

Of course, if we look closely at the larva 
we see that it is 
not an ant, but 
a first impression 
counts for much 
in the " struggle 
for existence" 
amongst living 
things, For ex- 
ample, there is the 
ichneumon - fly — 
an insect which 
deposits its eggs 
in or on the bodies 
of caterpillars; 
and the grubs 
hatched out from 
these eggs feed 
parasitically on 
the substance of 

seeking caterpillars, frequency meets with 
ants amongst the leaves and stems, and 
very respectfully allows them to pass, a habit 
which is strengthened in the species as time 
goes on. Hence, being in the habit of avoid- 

ing ants, the 
ichneumon-fly, as 
you can readily 
imagine, does not 
attack the lobster 
moth caterpillar, 
which at this stage 
so much resembles 
an ant. If by any 
chance the fraud 
should be detec- 
ted, what would 
happen then? In 
all probability the 
caterpillar would 
escape just the 
same ; its some- 
what ant-like 
character, com- 

bined with that 
indefinable and mysterious something else 
which it possesses, would doubtless make 
it seem too risky a venture for its enemy 
to undertake. This mimicry of an ant 
for protective purposes is by no means 
unique ; Belt, Wallace, and other naturalists 
have pointed out many other insects which 
have found it profitable to assume an ant-like 
appearance, such instances being abundantly 
evident in tropical count ries, where the life 
competition is keen. 

So the baby lobster moth apparently 
becomes an ant for the first week or ten days 

of its life. As it 
grows, however, it 
gets too big for 
the ant dodge, 
and is obliged to 
give up this kind 
of tactic and try 
another device. 
Its mimicry then 
takes two different 
forms, one for use 
while resting and 
the other when in 

In the resting 
attitude it be- 

comes inconspicu- 
ous by resembling 
a piece of dry and 
the larva. Now, curled -up leaf, 

,1 ■ fi i_ <■ i Fig. i. — Lobster moth calerpi Liars when twenty-one day^ old resemble rn\_* 

this fly, While bitsof twisted leaves and scale* of Leaf-buds, while KttiiHj. 1IT+ hls manttlivre IS 




Fig, 4. — The caterpillar when on« month old. 

effected by placing together the two forks at 
its tail and so turning them into a likeness to 
a leafstalk ; and then, hanging its body down 
from a stem or leaf> it doubles or folds up its 
four long legs, and allows these to hang down 
in a bunch in front of its head, and, as 
Professor Poulton has shown, these strongly 
suggest the brown scales of leaf-buds. 

In illustration Fig. 3 three of these 
lame are shown resting in the attitude 
described above, when three weeks old. 
It will be observed that they usually rest 
against that [xjrtion of the leaf on which 
they have been feeding, and at first 
glance do not look unlike the missing 
portion of the leaf, shrunken and shrivelled 
and still clinging to the stalk. Another 
example is shown in Fig. 4, which represents 
two larvae when about a month old. In 
about six or seven weeks they are full grown, 
and a full-fed larva is shown resting in Fig. 5, 

In these latter two illustrations the same 
characteristic of resting near the leaf on 
which it Is feeding is again exhibited, 
and the resemblance to a withered and 
dried- up leaf, as is seen, becomes very 
much intensified as the larva increases 
in size. 

These caterpillars cannot always be at 
rest, however, and, as it is not the custom 
of shrivelled leaves to walk about and 
consume other green leaves, Nature has 
provided these kirvie with further means 
of protection for use when feeding, or 
if attacked while in movement, and 
these we will now proceed to consider, 

First we may glance at the caterpillar 
peacefully feeding {Fig* 6), and observe 
how it makes straight cuts up the edge 
of the leaf, clearing away the soft parts 

until it reaches the central vein or mid-rib. 

It eats rapidly, but not for long together, 

Fig. 5.— A full-fed larva resting, and resembling a dry and 
shrivelled leaf* 

Fig* 6, — Luhsler moth lnrva peacefully feeding. 

feeding for a short time and then resting, 
and then feeding again, and so on, 

Now, when one of these caterpillars is 
found in this way enjoying its meal of beech 
or oak leaves it is always on the alert, and 
at the slightest noise or the rustling of a leaf 
in its near neighbourhood it instantly stops 
feeding, lifts up its anterior legs, and at 
once becomes the withered leaf again, just as 
if it knew the value of this means of protec- 
tion. After being disturbed in this fashion 
it generally rests for awhile before feeding 
again, resuming its meal after things have 
quieted down. Such is its ordinary careful 
method of avoiding discovery by its enemies. 
It sometimes occurs, however, that it has a 
real enemy to contend with, and then we see 
a very diffrrent display of manoeuvres, 

M^W^j?»,t terpillar whichj 



Fig, 7. — A larva, when louchcd, stops feeding 

to frighten off its enemy by looking: ferocious — 

just a moment before it was photographed, 
was feeding as quietly as the example shown 
in Fig. 6. It will be observed that it has 
detached its foreparts from the leaf and is 
raising both its head and tail \ and this 
movement was owing 
to the fact that I gave 
it a sharp touch with 
my finger just as I 
was about to make 
the exposure for 
photographing it It 
continued this move- 
ment in a slow and 
stealthy manner until 
it reached the posi- 
tion shown in Fig, 8, 
in which it held itself 
perfectly still, bearing 
a look which seemed 
to plainly imply, " I 
am ready for you 
now, sir, if you care to do that again ! " 
Not suffering from nervousness I did it again ; 
in fact, I not only touched it, but blew at it, 
because I wanted to see and photograph 
it while in a really desperate mood. The 
blowing seemed to aggravate it immensely, and 
immediately its head and tail were brought 
closer together, and its long second and third 
pairs of legs w T ere quickly put into action. 
These waved in the air and trembled and 
quivered with apparent rage as the insect 
turned its head in most angry fashion towards 
me. In the illustration Fig. 9 you see it at 
this interesting stage, w T here the rapid move- 
ments of its legs give them a somewhat in- 
distinct appearance, 

I immediately followed up this first assault 
by another of an exactly similar nature. At 
this second blowing the larva reached the 
height of its rage and demonstrations, and 

Fig- %*- and slowly becomes J ike some ugly spider. 

Fig. 10 shows it at this moment, where it 
will be seen to have worked its legs at a 
speed which has only permitted one — which 
had evidently just reached the limit of its 
movement and was about returning — to 
photograph clearly. Its head and tail are 
also seen to ha% r e come closer together as 
its rage increased ; the latter organ is gently 
worked from side to side while the rapid leg 
movements are taking place. 

I both touched and blew at it again after 
this, but when it found that the trick was not 
working it fell hack on the old dodge of being 
a dried- up leaf again. I say "trick " advisedly, 
because all of these terrifying attitudes are 
simply bluff, and the caterpillar does not pos- 
sess one real weapon of defence, and is, there* ■ 
fore, quite harmless. It depends entirely 
upon its alarming demonstrations to delude 
its enemy into the belief that it is able to do 
some very desperate things if driven to it. 
The interpretation of these novel manoeuvres 
was originally sug- 
gested by Hermann 
M tiller. This natural- 
ist observed that ich- 
neumons — the flies 
previously referred to 
as living on cater- 
pillars during their 
larval stages — were 
rarely ever found in 
spiders' webs, and that 
these insects know 
well how to avoid the 
attacks of such foes. 
It naturally follows, 
therefore, that a larva 
which bears a re- 
semblance to a spider would, in a large 
measure, be protected against such enemies, 
Really, the lobster moth larva can be com- 
pared with no other living animal, because 

Fig. 9. — If further auiwycd it wiues it? Jcgs about and quiver* 
\-t\i •„ ^jtjj rage; 




its extraordinary anatomical details, combined 
with its curious tactics, have struck out quite 
an original line of defence. As M tiller 
suggests, it approaches in resemblance a 
spider, a terrible and very much exaggerated 
spider it is true, but that exaggeration only 
makes it the more terrifying. When seen 
from the front its first and short pair of legs 
are held before its 

head, and represent i— — ■ — -~- - — ~- 
the spider's jaws, 
while the two longer 
pairs quiver^ as it 
were, with the desire 
to attack the intruder. 
The turned -up tail 
helps to suggest the 
large abdomen which 
characterizes spiders ; 
especially is this so 
when seen from be- 

When the cater- 
pillar was irritated 
and made angry for 
its photograph to be 
taken, another less 
showy but very extraordinary attempt at bluff 
was being carried on by the larva, which 
also records itself on the photographs. 

On each side of the bodies of these 
caterpillars, at the lower part of the fourth 
and fifth rings of the body — indicated by 
the white + on the enlarged photograph 
— there are two intensely black spots, but 
these are only visible when the caterpillar is 
angry or irritated, 
being covered at 
other times with 
a flap of skin. In 
illustrations Figs. 5 
and 6 these spots 
are covered, be- 
cause the cater- 
pillar is peaceful, 
but in Fig, 7 they 
commence to ap- 
pear as dark^ 
coloured lines, 
and as the larva is 
further annoyed 
they become 
greatly intensified, 
as shown in Figs* 
8, 9, and 10. 
Miiller has sug- 
gested that these 
black spots cor- 
respond to the 

Fig. 10, — If you persist in annoying it, its rage becomes still 

more intense, its tega w;ivin^ rapidly and its tail working 

from side to side. 

wounds or stings made by ichneumons 
when egg depositing, or indicate other marks 
of injury, which would in either case warn off 
the approaching ichneumon, for, with maternal 
instinct, this parasite always selects a healthy 
host for her progeny to prey upon, and, of 
course^ one not already occupied ; since 
each ichneumon usually deposits just 

about that number of 
1 eggs on each cater- 
pillar which corre- 
sponds with its size 
and substance, so 
that the demands of 
the developing in- 
mates when hatched 
will be well met, So 
this is probably only 
another protective 
ruse of this wily 

One would think 
that a larva so well 
protected could never 
be killed in the open 
warfare of life, but, 
as a matter of fact, 
both moth and caterpillar are scarce, which 
shows that their M struggle for existence " is a 
hard one. So scarce are they that a dealer 
in insects can command as much as three 
shillings for a moth specimen, and a similar 
price for a live pupa or chrysalis, while a live 
caterpillar can be purchased for about half 
this price. It does not by any means follow 

that, because an insect is 

e egg -Laying ichneumon. 

The above puoUv T cuLnycd i-> >Ij>>w itie black ipots beneath its, Jurepari.s 
(marked ■)-), which it develops in order to deceive tbee 

3d by Google 

provided with 
highly - evolved 
protective devices, 
it will survive and 
be successful in 
the struggle for 
life ; in fact, these 
developm ents 
only tend to show 
how keen that 
struggle has been, 
and to what de- 
vices it has been 
compelled to re- 
sort to hold a 
place for itself. 
Of course, the re- 
ciprocal and con- 
current develop- 
ments of the other 
side — i.e., its ene- 
mies — have also to 
be taken into ac- 
count, and these 




Fig. 1 1. — In September the caterpillar wraps itself in leaves and 
becomes a pupa or chrysalis for winter. 

may have kept pace with the evolution of all 
i t s de fe nsi ve m o vem e n t s. P ro bab 1 y , t h er efor e, 
the scarceness of the lobster moth may be 
accounted for in this way, 
although one cannot help 
sympathizing with this won- 
derful insect, for, as we 
have seen, it has really 
made a bald and most in- 
genious stand for its life, 
But if we knew more of the 
enemies which keep it in 
check — of which we know 
very little — we might con- 
ceive a like sympathy for 
them also, since they must 
undoubtedly have proved 
equally or even more 
ingenious to have kept 
them level with such tricky manoeuvres* 

The lobster moth belongs to the London 
district and southern counties, Epping Forest 
and some of the woods of the Upper Thames 
Valley and 
throughout the 
New Forest being 
favourite locali- 
ties for seeking 
this insect. 

If the larva 
survives all the 
troubles that 
beset its cater- 
pillar life, about 
the end of 
September it 
assumes its last 
disguise by g . i 3 ,- 

pulling about it two or three oak or 
birch leaves, attaching them together with 
silken threads. Inside these it weaves a 
sheet of delicate but strong paper - like 
material This it attaches to a leaf surface 
by its edges and encloses itself within it. 
Here in the course of a few days it moults 
its last caterpillar skin and becomes a pupa or 
chrysalis. In illustration Fig. 1 1 the cocoon 
is shown with an outside covering leaf re- 
moved ; and in Fig. 12 the paper-like covering 
is lifted aside to show the chrysalis, near 
which can be seen its shrunken caterpillar 

The cocoon, with its attached leaves, falls 
to the ground in late autumn, and lies there 
amongst other fallen leaves until about June 
of the next year, when, if all has gone well, a 
moth wakes up to the fact that it ought to 
be moving, and breaks its way through its 
chrysalis shell and cocoon into the open 
air, and hurriedly steers for the nearest tree, 
the bark of which it then climbs. It is any- 
thing but a pleasant -looking insect at this 
stage ; its wings are short and 
dumpy and cling about it 
like wet rags ; but if we 
watch it as it comes to rest 
higher up the tree we see 
the wings slowly expand and 
open out, and, as they dry 
with exposure to the atmo- 
sphere, their greyish -brown 
hues, with lighter and darker 
shadings and markings, be- 
come visible ; and then we 
have the last or perfect stage 
of the curious insect whose 
life-history we have briefly 
reviewed (Fig. 13). It is not 
nearly so handsome as some of our more 
common moths, but we can always appre- 
ciate its sombre hues, because we know what 
a strange and interesting animal it was in its 

babyhood s;tme 
nine or ten months 
before, As even- 
ing comes on it 
flutters silently 
uway, seeks its 
mate, and then in 
the course of a 
few days finishes 
its life functions 
by depositing its 
eggs, and so 
we arrive once 
more at our start- 

The lobster math tSiauropus f ag ij nature *i,C "^ '^"ing-point 


Fip, 12.— The chrysalis and cast caterpillar 

skm — esposcil hy removing ihu dclitau; but 

strong, paper-like covering of cocoon. 

A Bugle Call. 

By L. J. Beeston. 

HERE were nine men dining 
at Colonel Gildershaw's that 
evening; mostly military, down 
for a week amongst the part- 
ridges. The ninth — Hope- 
Peynell — had come over on 
his horse an hour back quite unexpectedly. 
His boyish, cheery spirit was always welcome 
there ; but there was no spare bed for him 
and the night had turned out very badly — a 
drenching night of storm. 
This was the cause and beginning of it all. 
Colonel Gildershaw went to the window, 
his unlighted cigar gripped between his teeth, 
and he drummed upon the pane. 

"What are you thinking of, Gildershaw?" 
said Hope-Peynell. 

" That it is a deuced wet night, and I do 
not like to send you home." 

" I have no intention of going," said the 
other, coolly. 

" But the house is full up ! " 

" Three chairs and a bolster, then." 

" But I don't like- 
I'll go round to 

'The Musks.' A good 
idea," interrupted the other. 

"That is more than I would do," grunted 
Lieutenant Thorn, sipping at his port, his 
legs stretched out under the table. 

" Is there a story attached ? " queried 
Captain Murray, stifling a yawn. 

The colonel cut in sharply. " No, no ; 
only stupid chatter. Of course, Peynell," he 
added, " if you prefer to trot round to my 
cottage, you may ; but I must say " 

It was at this point that D' A vorsy inter- 
rupted, speaking in his deep voice that was 
like the growl of distant cannon. 

" What are you all so mysterious about ? " 
he asked. " Are you going to tell me that 
this cottage is haunted ? " 

" So much so that the colonel hasn't 
succeeded in finding a tenant for the past 
two years," acknowledged Captain Murray. 

" Good ! Then I sleep there to-night." 

" Pardon me," said Hope-Peynell ; " but 
I will not hear of it. I cannot permit that. 
I came here uninvited, and " 

" And I have the pleasure of offering you 
my room," interposed D'Avorsy. 

" Best of thanks ; yet I must decline." 

" I am not accustomed to being denied." 

VoL xxix. -6. 

Leopold D'Avorsy, officer in a crack regi- 
ment of Austrian Hussars, war-worn, deeply 
scarred with many wounds of swords and 
passions, spoke in cold, hard tones which 
told of the truth of his assertion. He added, 
breaking a short silence which came upon 
the company, " While I have little belief in 
ghosts, the subject fascinates me. 1 should 
much like to pass a night at this place. You 
know, Gildershaw, that you need have no 
fears for me. I have seen some few perils, 
you are aware. I have what you English 
call 'a charmed life.' There are some men 
whom Death appears to shun. I am one of 
these. I shall take the liberty of sleeping at 
your cottage to-night." 

His manner was final ; the last word on 
the subject seemed to have been spoken. 
Lieutenant Thorn joined the colonel at the 
window. The rain had certainly increased, 
and the night was as bad as could be. The 
wind was uttering loud cries as it romped 
round the sky, bending the trees and robbing 
them of their perished leaves. A continuous 
roar sounded from the earth, that was receiv- 
ing tons of rain on her green bosom. 

"Speaking of haunted places, I will tell 
you a story," continued D'Avorsy, willing to 
break a silence which his dictatorial manner 
had brought upon all — "a story of love, and 
death, and war. I share in it, and perhaps 
it will interest you. But first I will ask you 
to excuse me one moment, my friends," and 
leaving his chair he quitted the room. 

Summoning his servant — a fresh-faced, 
good-looking young fellow — he spoke to him 
in a low tone. The latter, fixing his danc 
eyes on his master, listened attentively. 

" You understand, Paul ? " concluded the 

"Perfectly, monsieur." 

" You will conceal yourself on the balcony 
outside the dining-room ; when you hear me 
say, in a loud voice, * I never met any ghost 
that was not afraid of a pistol-ball,' you will 
know what to do." 

" I shall know what to do, monsieur." 

"Go, then." 

During the few minutes of D'Avorsy's 
absence Colonel Gildershaw had been re- 
marking to his guests : — 

" That is a very remarkable man. When 
he declared that Death gives him the go-by, 



js^iu. L 


he spoke the truth. A man of iron. I 

know for a fact that he has figured in fifteen 
duels. In one the terms were peculiar : 
1 Advance at a given word, and fire when 
either wishes/ D'Avorsy was first, and 
pierced his opponent's cap with a hullet j but 
the other came on to within three feet The 
pistol missed fire I 

" He was present at Komggratz," continued 
the colonel, " where his regiment was anni 
hilated. On another occasion a bursting 
mortar killed its crew, and D'Avorsy, who 
was within a yard, lost a tooth ! He was a 
brother in a murderous secret society on 
which he turned his back, They threatened 
and thrice endeavoured to assassinate him. 
An old wound in his left thigh causes him 
great pain for a month each year, It drove 
him into the morphia habit. He took such 
doses that would have done for vou or me in 
six months ; he stood it for eighteen. That, 
and disfavour with the Emperor into which 
he got himself, threw him into a suicidal 
condition ; he resolved to take his life. 

** I saw him a couple of months after- 
wards, when things were brighter, and he 
told me of that despondency and fatal 
resolution. ' But you are alive ? ' I said. He 
smiled grimly, and from a drawer pulled an 
army revolver, half-inch calibre. 'It is 
loaded in all its chambers,' said he, ' Four 
times I pressed the trigger ; no result. I 
put it there just as I found it Shall I try a 
fifth ? ' l For Heaven's sake give it to me ! J 
I examined it, imagining that the bolt was not 

Digitized by G< 

colonel's remarks 
He said, dropping 
Will you hear the 
It is quite short 

quite right. At the smallest pressure of my 
finger it went off — smashed a silver candle- 
stick ! * Bones of Paul 1 ' said D'Avorsy. 
f What, then, was the matter w T ith the con- 
founded thing ? T " 

The subject of the 
entered at that moment, 
into a comfortable chair, 
little story, gentlemen ? 
Or shall I bore you in the telling ? " 

They one and all protested their eagerness 
to listen. 

" Very well," began D'Avorsy. * E I met 
Bertha Lalache in a hamlet deep-buried in 
the woods of the foothills which you cross 
coming southward from Silesia. And having 
nothing to do, I fell in love with this girl, 
who was altogether unlike a peasant of those 
parts. She had those dark, mysterious eyes 
which change with a changing mood, reflect- 
ing thoughts as still waters show when a 
cloud passes. 

" She had interest only for me at first, and 
if she had listened to the soft words I spoke, 
half in jest, I should, I believe, have tired of 
the society of that beautiful faun. But— 
Cospetio ! considering that she was only the 
daughter of old Ugo I^alache, she showed 
a fine spirit, and bade me stand off with 
glances that warmed my soul like the flicker 
of cannon. Interest changed to liking ; 
liking to love. I adored this elf of the 
forest, from her hrown hair which the wind 
played with to her pretty ankles as first I 
saw them in the trickling water of a brook, 




41 I confess that I so far lost my head as to 
ask her to be my wife. She declined. I 
threw dignity to the breezes and asked if 
there was another. There was. His name ! 
Julius von Chabert. Who was he ? A con- 
script, serving his time in a foot regiment. 
With that I had to be satisfied, and the next 
day came a telegram. I was instantly to 
report myself. War with Prussia was a 
certain thing. I cursed Chabert, I cursed 
the Germans, and I cursed myself for my 
folly ; and I left the green glades of that 
forest, its streams and its songs, with a feeling 
that one man's love affair is greater far than 
the quarrel of two nations. Do not laugh at 
me, my friends. A score of pretty women 
have moved me deep enough, -Heaven 
knows; but I tell you that I loved Bertha 
Lalache. I love her now; and if — if— but 
you will understand that in time. 

" A fortnight later and Austria was at war 
with the Prussians — that campaign of seven 
days. We were moving on Koniggratz. It 
was night ; the Elbe guarded the rear of the 
army. Our movements had taken me so 
close to the scene of my meeting with 
Bertha that the farm of Ugo Lalache was 
not more than gunshot away. But I gave it 
no thought, since I had little doubt that he 
had crossed the mountains — he and his 
daughter, in the general hurry and scamper. 

" My company had been thrown forward 
to within half a mile of a thick wood. At 
the edge of a part of that wood a picket had 
been stationed. At a late hour, the moon 
riding high and bright, I went to make sure 
that the fellow was at his post, and I found 
him missing." 

At this point Colonel Gildershaw uttered 
a growl at the mere recital of so rank an 

"As I stood there," continued D'Avorsy, 
" I heard, rising through that moon-drenched, 
still air, five notes of a bugle call. They 
sounded from within the wood. I moved 
forward, very cautiously, peering here and 
there for perhaps the body of that outpost, 
for I thought he must have been killed. 
Suddenly there rose those silver notes a 
second time, high and melancholy. I heard 
the fluttering of waking birds in the tops of 
the trees, and one trilled a love message to 
his mate. I pushed forward in the direction 
of the sound, and soon the whisper of voices 
lent me even better guidance. And pre- 
sently I perceived the truth of the matter. 
Prepare yourselves for a great shock, my 
friends. The missing picket was standing 
in a glade silver-white in the moon's rays. 

Digitized by tjt 

His arms encircled a girl's head, and upon 
her brow and lips and cheeks he rained 
his kisses. 

" For a full minute I was too choked with 
rage to interfere. This sentry had quitted 
his post, and he had, by a signal no doubt 
previously agreed upon, called his love to 
him by those five notes from a bugle. In 
the meantime the Austrian army might do as 
it liked ! 

" I went forward, and putting a hand upon 
his shoulder I twisted him round with an 
effort that nearly flung him down. He went 
white as a ghost. ' My captain ! ' he said. 
Then he saluted, and looked at the death 
in my eyes with an unflinching stare. He 
was brave. 

" I had attention only for his companion. 
You have guessed her name ? Quite right ; 
she was Bertha. 

" Womanlike, she failed to appreciate the 
gravity of the situation. She even gave me 
an uneasy smile. ' Monsieur/ she said, * this 
is my sweetheart ; this is Julius, of whom I 
told you.' 

" Soul of my sword ! — she was beautiful 

"As I did not answer her she kept looking 
from me to him. The fellow stood as a 
statue in the moonlight, his lips tightly com- 

" Then some vague apprehension came to 
her. * What does it mean ? ' she said, quickly. 

" ' It means that the army has been 

" Not understanding my words she turned 
to Chabert, questioning him ; but no reply 
passed his lips. And then I think she com- 
prehended how serious the matter was. She 
clasped my right arm with her slender white 

"'What has he done?' 

" ' Deserted his post/ 

" ' Ah ! you will forgive him ? ' she panted. 

" ' Pardon does not rest with me.' 

" ' What— what will they do to him ? ' 

" ' He will be shot at dawn.' 

" I hear her scream now. The night wind 
rustled the trees, and they appeared to 
respond to that cry of heart-break. She fell 
on the ground at my feet; she clasped my 
knees ; she called on me in the most frenzied 
terms to save him. I glanced at the sentry. 
He was still motionless as brass ; his eyes 
were fixed upon her bowed head, and down 
his cheeks two great tears were running." 

Hope-Peynell half-raised himself from his 
chair in intense agitation. " And Chabert — 
what of him ? " he exclaimed. 

" He w?*s shot at daybreak." 




prepared — and that roughly — the lower 
windows had no blinds or curtains ; and the 
pallid moonlight shone on the black panes. 
Water trickled somewhere. A bull-frog 

And over all there hung a cloud of fear ; 

A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
And satd t as plain as whisuer in ll e ear, 

** The place is haunted ! '* 

" Certainly this is an infernally desolate 
hole," said D'Avorsy ; " and if I do not get 
ghosts I shall 
get rheuma- 

He strode up 
the gravelled 
path, under a 
porch from 
which boughs 
of broken jessa- 
mine hung, and 
pulled at a belL 
Almost imme- 
diately Paul 
opened the 
door. He car- 
ried a small 
lamp in one 

" Everything 
right?" inquired 
the officer. 

11 Everything, 

"Well, you 
can go, or stay, 
as you please. 
You know the 
character the 
place has? 
Bones of Mi- 
chael ! I can 
believe it is 
accursed, for I 
there a fire ? " 

" None, monsieur" 

"Nor any coals ? " 

" No, monsieur." 

"Then I shall go to bed. 
going to do ? " 

" I shall stay, monsieur/' 

"You have good courage, 

" 'EVBRITTHjKG JtlttHTf ' 

am shivering terribly, Is 

What are you 

Please yoQr- 

D'Avorsy took the lamp and passed into 
his bedroom. He bestowed a cursory glance 
or two at the fresh curtains, the new rug 
upon the floor, and the few articles of 
furniture. He placed the lamp on a small 
chest of drawers, undressed quickly, and was 

Digitized by VjOOglC 

on the point of getting into bed when he 
paused and murmured, "Ought I to lock the 
door ? " 

Deciding instantly that to do so would he 
to confess a weakness, he curled himself in 
the blankets. But five minutes had not 
passed before he wished that he had turned 
the key. He accordingly got up and did so. 
Further reflection made him angry w T ith him- 
self. By locking himself in he admitted 
that he was not quite comfortable* Was it 

possible that he was 
afraid ? As he was 
not going to stand 
any nonsense of that 
sort he jumped up 
a second time, un- 
locked the door, 
and settled the 
matter by flinging 
the key out of 
window* He 
heard it fall into 
the garden. 

Then he went 
to bed again, and 
almost imme- 
diately dropped 
off to sleep. 

He awoke 
sbme time later 
The first thing 
of which he was 
conscious was 
that his lamp 
was going out. 
An acrid smell 
wick filled the 
room. D'Avorsy 
pulled his watch 
from under the 
pillow. Two 
o'clock. He had slept just one hour. 

Muttering an imprecation that was 
addressed to the lamp, he reached out an 
arm, and was just about to extinguish the 
cause of his annoyance when a terrible cold 
shi%*er seemed to run through his body. He 
drew in his arm, 

"This place is as cold as a deep grave," 
he said. " I must have caught a chill." 

He heard his heart thump— thumping 
under the clothes. It was not that he 
was frightened. The sensation which had 
assailed him was not fear exactly, any more 
than the shudder which convulses us is 
caused by fright when we say, after it, 
" Someone walked over my grave/' 





The wind had increased ; it whined round 
an angle of the house; the thresh of the 
poplars sounded as a sea. 

"After all, I might have locked my door," 
muttered D'Avorsy. " I was a fool to throw 
the key away." 

Shadows deepened about the room, for 
the lamp's light was failing fast. A circlet of 
flame tottered on the red, smoking edge of 
the wick. 

D'Avorsy swore loudly, and by a supreme 
effort he flung from him the unaccountable 
lethargy which had gripped his nerves. 
Raising himself upon an elbow, he reached 
out again and turned up the wick of the lamp. 

At that moment the handle of the door 
rattled and the brass knob began to move 
round. D'Avorsy's fist closed tightly on the 
iron stem of the lamp. A grim smile lifted 
his moustache. Here was something more 
tangible ! He only wished he could 
encounter it with a revolver. 

" Who is there ? " he demanded, in his 
harsh, commanding voice. 

For answer the door was thrown swiftly 
open. The heavy lamp trembled in 
D'Avorsy's grasp ; in another moment he 
might have hurled it, but suddenly his 
fingers relaxed their hold, a gasp broke 
from his lips. 

On the threshold stood a figure in a white 
garment that reached down to the feet. It 
was the form of a girl. Her face was white 
as death. The expiring lamp-flame shone in 
her gleaming eyes. Both her arms were 
extended, both hands held a long pistol, and 
both weapons were aimed steadily at 

The latter became motionless as stone, 
but it was not fear that worked the change. 
The steel barrels threatened his life ; but he 
had ever laughed at death, and at that 
moment he thought of it least. Twice he 
opened his lips, but no sound issued. At 
the third attempt a hoarse, strangled whisper 
broke from them. 

" Bertha ! " 

Both weapons went off — as one. A note of 
thunder rang through the quiet house. 
There was the crash of a falling lamp, total 
darkness, a woman's scream. 


Lieutenant Thorn was running in the 
direction of the cottage, eager to assure him- 
self that all was well there, and still more 
anxious to get back to bed. He was nearly 
arrived when he perceived a man hastening 
to meet him. It was Paul, D'Avorsy's 

igiiized by L^OOgle 

servant, and he showed signs of intense 

" Good heavens, man ! What is wrong ? " 
cried Thorn. 

" M. D'Avorsy — shot ! " panted the other. 
"I — I found him — in his room. Run 
quickly I " 

Thorn sprinted off at a great pace, leaving 
Paul, who seemed too weak to follow. He 
found the door of the cottage open, and 
he rushed into one room after another until 
he came to the right apartment. He uttered 
a cry of dismay. The officer of Hussars lay 
extended upon the floor. He had apparently 
sprung from the bed, but his right foot had 
caught in the clothes, which he had dragged 
off in his fall. 

Thorn dropped upon his knees and raised 
the other's head ; at the same moment 
D'Avorsy opened his eyes. 

With a great cry of relief Thorn bounded 
away for water ; then he commenced to tear 
a sheet into bandages. He examined the 
wound in the sufferer's throat. It was neither 
deep nor dangerous, though it had drawn 
much blood. Said he : — 

" I have seen some narrow shaves, but 

this ! Man, the bullet actually shaved 

the carotid artery ! Who fired it ? " 

D'Avorsy swallowed a few drops of water. 
"I did," said he. "Help me into the bed. 
That's better. I knew it was but a scratch, 
I was messing about with my pistol, and it 
went off. There it is on the floor there. 
Put it away. There — there isn't another ? 
No ; of course I — I brought one only. 
Cospetto I I feel a bit sick. Where is my 
man? He must have heard the noise." 

" I met him running for assistance. Are 
you all right ? I'll slip out and rouse up a 

Thorn did so. Then he went off to the 
colonel's, and broke the news to them all. 
Incidentally he asked if D'Avorsy's servant 
had been before him. Wondering where the 
fellow had taken himself, he went to his 
room. He found it in a state of disarrange- 
ment. One object he saw there which 
occasioned a momentary surprise. It was a 
brass bugle. 

Five months after these events Colonel 
Gildershaw ran up against Hope-Peynell in 
the Junior Army and Navy. He said : — 

" I have just received an extraordinary 
letter. I was never so much astonished in 
my life as I am at the present moment. It 
is from Leopold D'Avorsy, who writes from 
Salzburg. You mei him once." 


4 8 



" Well I remember it. That affair " 

M Exactly. What do you think ? He 
palmed off a yarn upon us to the effect that 
he shot himself accidentally that night, when 
he missed death in his usual fashion — stroll- 
ing round one corner as destruction came 
rushing round another. His servant, you 
will remember, was missing after the event. 
It turns out that it was this person who fired 
at D'AvorsyV' 

" What ! " 

u That's nothing to what's coming. The 
servant was a girl— Bertha Lalache." 


" Oh, hut wait. D'Avorsy tells me all. It 
sic ms that her abrupt disappearance gave 
him a clue ; hi: recalled many moments when 
something in her face and voice and manner 
stirred memories within his mind, though he 
had never dreamed of the truth or pierced 
through her disguise. Her object, of course, 
was revenge. She became his servant soon 

after her sweetheart's sad end. She waited 
long for an opportunity. She a dramatic 
one, by Jove ! It was she who sounded the 
bugle call that evening — on her dead lover's 
instrument. But the most interesting part of 
the story is yet to come/' 

11 1 cannot imagine what it can be." 

M D'Avorsy never rested until he had found 
Bertha Lalache. He discovered this strange 
girl at last, in her old home in the forest 
above Koniggratz ; and — and — either she 
feared him after her attempt on his life, or 
else — and I think this is more likely — his 
persistence and forgiveness touched an 
answering chord in her heart ; but, be that 
as it may, he has married her, and he vows 
he was never half so happy ! " 

" Good heavens ! " said Hope - Peyncll. 
He was silent for a tull minute before he 
added, shrugging his shoulders :— 

11 What queer people one meets in this 

by Google 

Original from 

The Face and Its Fortune. 


By George Meyners. 

ERE you never forced in- 
voluntarily to exclaim, " Did 
you see that beautiful 
woman ? " only to receive the 
disappointing reply, " I see her, 
but see no special beauty " ? 
And did not this set you wondering what 
beauty is, and why that face gave you a 
pleasurable shock, but left your friend indif- 
ferent and cold ? 

I am not proposing to deal here with 
beauty in the abstract, but with that vague 
and mysterious quality called " charm " — 
mysterious because the same face, beautiful 
to me, may be ugly to you, or at least possess 
no attraction whatever. A beautiful flower, 
a sunset glow, are always beautiful in them- 
selves. Why have human faces, within which 
there glows an immortal spirit, no constant 
and universal power of pleasing? The 
simple fact is that they have not. Some 
please us and of themselves excite us to love 
and admiration, we know not why, while 
others positively repel us, and again we 
know not why. These " whys " have doubt- 
less often been put, but, so far as I know, 
the world has never yet been able to find a 
satisfactory answer. 

Daring as the assertion may seem, the 
problem which has hitherto baffled the human 
race has now been solved. In the following 
pages the solution will be found. It is, 
however, only the first " why " — the " why am 
I fascinated by the face in the window and 
you are not ? " which can now be answered. 
We may be forced to wait for generations 
before other "whys," which are sure to crop up 
in endless succession, can find their answers. 
I think it must be obvious to everyone 
that, in order to obtain first-hand knowledge as 
to the subtle processes of emotion, we must 
look within and try to analyze their move- 
ments in our own minds. Such watchings of 
my own sensations many years ago made me 
aware of the existence of a law which settles 
for us the people we can love and the people 
from whom we instinctively shrink. This 
law I propose to describe, and I shall give 
my reasons for believing in its existence. 
Anyone can verify the truth for himself by a 
few weeks' study of the faces of his friends. 

Vol. xxix.— 7. 

But — there is no help for it — I must take 
the reader into my confidence, as if he were 
my own familiar friend from whom I keep no 
secrets. I do so with diffidence, because I 
cannot be sure of a friend's indulgence. 

Although long familiar with the saying that 
clever men marry silly women, that dark 
people fall in love with fair, tall with short, 
and, generally, that people are attracted by 
their opposites, I was very sceptical about the 
truth of the assertion. It, consequently, never 
occurred to me that there might be such a 
thing as facial contrasts; indeed, if anyone 
had told me, I should have been puzzled to 
know what facial contrasts meant. What 
first struck me about faces was the fact that 
they affected me in very different ways. 
Sensitive as I was to impressions, I realized 
this deeply in more ways than one. There 
were some faces which no amount of persua- 
sion could have induced me to kiss ; others 
I longed to kiss, but dared not. Unknown 
girls became objects of worship to me ; I 
could not keep my eyes off them. They 
roused dreams of happiness which I knew 
could never be fulfilled— dreams so delicious 
that I fluttered and fretted like a bird 
imprisoned in a cage who hears the call of 
his mates in the trees. On the other hand, 
some girls, equally unknown, I hated, feeling 
all the time sorry that it should be so. All 
boys doubtless go through the same ex- 
perience, but I was one of those who took 
it seriously, so seriously that I felt wounded 
if anyone rallied me. All this may sound 
childish, but it is facts that really concern 
us, and these are the facts. What was the 
secret of this differential action ? Did it lie 
in the eyes ? Was it a case of some " soul- 
attraction " — if there is such a thing — work- 
ing through the expression ? This was 
obviously not the case. For the face that 
fascinated might look with the coldest indif- 
ference or even with positive disdain, and the 
fascination only be increased thereby ; while, 
on the other hand, the most loving look from 
faces that have not the secret spell for us 
invariably rouse an emotion nearly akin to 
positive aversion, such as children always, 
and women occasionally, show with the most 
brutal disregard to ^[ft,,-^ 



But I need not discuss any longer the 
question whether it is love beaming from eyes 
that awakens love, for I found out with 
absolute certainty that it is not. At least, I 
found out what does awaken it, and that is 
not love itself. A very startling fact, that love 
cannot kindle love. It may rouse feelings of 
gratitude, but not the passion for which it 

I well remember the face (it charms me 
still when I think of it) that first brought me 
light on this subject. Marriage, or indeed 
any word of love, was out of the question, 
It was but a three days' friendship, w T hich 
became cordial in the first half-hour of meet- 
ing. From that time to this I have never 
seen the lady again, and only once heard of 
her. She w T as to be married. The news 
gave me a pang at which 
I wondered, for I should 
never admit that I had 
been in love with her. 
But the fascination had 
evidently penetrated to 
the depths of my being, 
though at the time it did 
not carry me away, I 
was even cool enough to 
ponder its cause and to 
ask myself, " Why do her 
features bewitch me ? ,s 

They were not of the 
Greek type or formally 
beautiful, but beautiful 
they were to me. I can- 
not say which part of 
her face I liked best. 
I noticed, however, as 
I studied it unobserved 
by her, that she had 
a strong, rather massive 
chin and lower jaw, though these were 
not out of proportion ; her nose was small 
and rounded, her eyes w f ere just shaded 
by her brows, and her lips, though full, 
did not protrude. Now, all these traits 
are the exact opposite of my own, I well 
remember the amazement I felt as the recog- 
nition of this contrast broke upon me. I 
saw at once that in this must lie the secret of 
the fascination. But, if so, what a curious 
automatic process the awakening of love 
must be! For that face had influenced 
me in a manner I little suspected, as 
I found out when, four or five years after- 
wards, the lady's approaching marriage was 
mentioned openly, and I received a shock. 
It was as if I had an internal wound, of 
which I remained unconscious until 4 sudden 


shoot of pain betrayed the existence of the 

Here, then, I was clearly on the track of a 
law. I had caught a glimpse of a power out- 
side our wills, moving us along paths not 
of our own devising. From this time faces 
had an additional interest for me, an intel- 
lectual interest being added to the emotional, 
I trust, therefore, I shall be forgiven for 
treating my readers to a list of apparently 
trivial personal details. 

The story just confided to th£ reader of » 
the face of a young w T ornan which, all un- 
known to herself and myself, left a scar on 
my soul will have begun to make clear what 
facial contrasts mean, and, working on the 
same lines, we may devise a method by which 
we can all discover facial contrasts for our- 
selves. For if a law 
exists, there can be no- 
thing slipshod in its 
operation ; it is capable 
of being formulated, 
otherwise it is not a law. 

What the exact formula 
is I do not profess to have 
discovered. I have found 
one, however, which gives 
good results. The method 
I recommend is as follows. 
Draw in profile a perfectly 
regular face of the Greek 
type which we take as a 
standard (No. r). Whether 
we are justified in- regard- 
ing this as a standard is 
for the moment a matter 
of indifference. In the 
meantime let us assume 
that it is so. In order, 
then, to -find the con- 
trast of any face, taking profiles only into 
account, we must draw over this standard 
the face whose contrast we want, It will be 
found to fall on one side of it or on the 
other, sometimes, perhaps, crossing it. If it 
is a very irregular face, it may cross the 
standard more than once. I,et us say that 
it falls entirely on the left side. Now trace 
a second face on the top of these two by 
following a line that falls as far on the right 
side of the standard as the other fell on 
the left. Where the lines bend into the 
horizontal, as under the brow, the nose, and 
chin, the lines of the second face will have 
to be as far above the standard as the other 
was below and vite versii. This will give the 
profiles of & couple of contrasting faces; 
contrasting, m that they diverge by equal 





and opposite amounts from the assumed 
standard of beauty. 

But this process applies only to the profile. 
Profile is merely one line of the face* 
Certainly it is a very important line, but it is 
not seen in front view. And the front view 
must be taken into account if we wish to see 
as Xature sees. 

How important it is to take the whole face 
into consideration we may gather from the 
accompanying four figures illustrating two 
married couples. The upper two (No. z) 
represent a young pair whose pictures I 
took from a current newspaper. They 
attracted my attention because, a few 
moments before, I had been 
looking over the family 
photographs of a friend and 
had borrowed the two shown 
in No. 3, which represented 
an old couple whose faces 
were slightly altered by age. 
One might think that the 
second couple was the first 
grown elderly, but they are 
quite different couples. Here, 
then, in the same evening, 
I came across a most striking 
case of two couples, in which 
the most conspicuous con- 
trast, viz., the outline of the 
front view of the face, was 
the same. The men in each 
case had narrow, oval faces, 
thinning away towards the 
chin ; the women, on the con- no . 3 ,- 

trary, had faces very wide below. 
Owing to the position of the 
faces in the figures, it is not 
easy to see how far the con- 
trasts extended also to the pro- 
files. In the elderly pair the 
noses certainly show a remark- 
able difference of type, and I 
am convinced that we should 
find them good ^contrasts. In- 
deed, 1 may add that I know 
a third couple of lovers show- 
ing the same contrasts of shape 
in front view, only it is the 
woman whose face is small and 
narrow at the chin and the 
man whose face has the strong, 
massive jaw ; and certainly the 
faces of this third couple con- 
trast in other features sufficiently 
to strike the most untrained 
eye. Since this was first written 
1 have seen the same contrast 
scores of limes and with many varieties of 

If, then, we want to get complete con- 
trasts the profiles alone are not sufficient* 
for many subtle and, to the eye of Nature, 
doubtless seductive opposite* lurk in other 
regions of the face than along the median 
line. But since great technical difficulties 
lie in the way of our working out complete 
contrasts by any simple process, we must 
content ourselves with getting as good pro- 
file contrasts as our methods can give us, 
and he satisfied w T ith rough measurements of 
the rest of the face, 

But, after all, the simplest method is to 

™ ^T^iftg*^^ ftfeWJW • 




study the faces of married and engaged 
couples. I was astonished to see how the 
evidence accumulated directly I began to 
look for it. Indeed, so far I have found no 
couples who belie it in all details. 

Asking my readers, then, for the present to 
suppress any of the objections which I feel 
sure are surging up in their minds, especially 
in the minds of 
the women, I 
begin by appeal- 
ing to married 
couples* In an 
early work I gave 
a few sketches 
selected from 
among my own 
personal friends. 
But I eventually 
followed the 
advice of the 
admirable black- 
and-white artist, 
Miss Alice Wood- 
ward, whose ser- 
vices I have 
been fortunate 
enough to en- 
list. I applied to the publishers of the 
Lady's Pkiarial for permission (which was 
courteously granted) to examine some volumes 
of that journal, in which reproductions of 
photographs of newly- married couples are a 
feature. Photographs are not always taken 
in a way most suited to bring out the points 
we wanted to see. Consequently, it was 
frequently impossible to ascertain the finer 
details of the 
contrasts, for in 
all but a very few 
cases contrasts 
were quite trace- 
able, and in the 
majority they 
were very strik- 
ing. A few of 
these have been 
drawn by Miss 
Alice Wood- 
ward* with great 
skill and care 
and with con- 
stant reference 
to the standard 
Greek profile, 

VVv \V> 



_■ A 


* Illustrations Nos. i f 
\, i?, and \y were made 
from photograph* and 
rough sketches by Miss 
pdlfc Clarke. 

and are here reproduced These demon- 
strations will be especially instructive and 
will help to frame the reader's eye to see 
contrasts- For, according to my experience, 
if I could suddenly marshal before the reader 
every Anglo - Saxon pair at this moment 
wrapped up in one another's existence, I 
should probably not convince everybody that 

their faces are in 
all cases con- 
trasts, I have 
sometimes found 
it difficult to 
demonstrate a 
contrast which to 
me seemed most 
striking. Few 
persons have the 
power of discern- 
ing fine differ- 
ences ■ just as 
many fail to 
notice whether a 
picture hangs 
straight or 
crooked* Why are 
such elementary 
powers of obser- 
vation not trained in the nursery or kinder- 
garten ? I suppose they will be some day, 
when we cultivate human life more according 
to discovered laws and less according to 
ancient and — not seldom — barbarous custom. 
No. 4 shows a very obvious contrast. 
There is a downward tendency in all the 
man's features, and upward and forward 
tendency in those of his wife, The man's 

profile is convex, 
the girl's con- 
cave. His face, 
judging from the 
shape of the 
mouth, gives the 
impression of 
coming out to a 
keel \ her face h 
evidently flat and 
broad. The 
contrast is also 
marked in detail 
of feature ; his 
eyes and their 
setting are slit- 
like, hers open ; 
his nose is thin 
and large and 
pointed down- 
ward, having long, 

—J- - Onnmalfrnm warn, havmg long, 

'U^IK.hc ^ ^j H |VEfiSITY OF MICHfe!ftf ,OBtnls ' hOT 





is small and broad, and has small, round 
nostrils ; his mouth is long, with lips droop- 
ing, the upper lip 
hanging over; 
hers is short and 
full ; his chin is 
pointed down- 
ward, hers for- 

No. 5 is another 
case of obvious 
contrasts. The 
man's face is again 
bony, thin, and 
hatchet - like ; his 
wife's rounded, 
full, and smooth ; 
his, again, tends 
to droop, hers to 
look upward. The 
noses contrast 

both in profile and in the way they are set on 
the face ; also in the length and width of the 
nostrils. Other details of contrast are 
not so very marked, but I may call r 
attention to the differences in the 
widths of the eyelids and in the shape 
of the chins. 

No. 6 shows us the man with small 
features, tending rather to look forward, 
while those of the woman tend to 
droop ; this tendency is specially 
apparent in eyes, nose, and chin. The 
chief contrast is in the noses, especi- 
ally in their shape and in that of the 
nostrils, hers being very long and his 
very round. 

In No. 7 the man's face tends to be 
concave, his wife's convex ; his face is 
long and pushed in, hers runs out to 
a point ; his forehead is straight and 

high, hers retreating and low ; his 
nose and mouth are all firmly set 
together, hers all loose ; his chin is 
square and drooping, hers rounded 
and forward. 

No. 8 shows two faces of irregu- 
lar types, the irregularity of the man's 
face being met by an equal irregu- 
larity in that of his mate. A refer- 
ence to the standard given in No. i 
shows these two faces to be very 
good contrasts, perhaps as good as 
could be found. The man's fore- 
head slopes, the woman's is straight ; 
his eyes are deep sunk and close 
together, hers are wide apart and 
apparently without pronounced set- 
ting ; his nose is long and straight 
and pointed downwards, hers is short, straight, 
and cut off at an upward slope to the face ; 

his nostrils are 
long, hers short ; 
his upper lip is 
short and pouts, 
hers is long and 
straight ; her chin 
and the lower part 
of her face are 
full and round, his 
slopes away from 
all sides to an 
angle. This case 
is specially inter- 
esting because of 
the fact that the 
faces are not very 
common types, 
hence, one would 
expect, less 

likely to 
No. 9 

find their contrasts, 
shows again the mating 

of a con- 







by LiOOgle 

c°Gri$irial'fiiffm NO - »■ 



cave with a convex type of face, for in front 
view the mans face is broad and massive, 
especially in the lower part, just where the 
woman's thins away. The foreheads differ, 
the brows being arched in the one, straight 
in the other ; the woman's eyes are small 
and weakly set, the man's large and well 
defined ; her nose is thin and curved, with 
narrow nostrils, 
his has a slight 
upward tip and is 
broad, with large, 
widespread nos- 
trils; the contrasts 
of mouth and chin 
need no comment. 
No. 10 is from 
a sketch I took 
from life. The 
actual contrast 
was even more 
remarkable than 
I succeeded in 
making it. The 
man's lace was one 
of those which, for 
obvious reasons, 
may be called 
"embryonic"; />*, 
there was a large 

frontal develop- 
ment, while the features below were small and 
insignificant. The wife's face was the exact 
opposite. Her forehead was considerably 
lower than shown in the figure, so that all 
her features, which were very pronounced, 
were high up on her face. This contrast in 
the faces as w holes was almost ludicrous. 
The features themseh'es also contrasted in 
detail ; the noses, the depth of the upper 
lips, the shape and size of the chins differed 

Although since making this sketch I have 
several times noticed this embryonic type of 
face, I have unfortunately not seen it mated 
with its contrast Wherever it occurs it 
should have for its companion a large-faced 
and large-featured type w T ith a comparatively 
small forehead. 

No, ii is also from a sketch from life. 
The contrast was again very striking, and 
could be carried out even in minute detail 
Note the foreheads : his broad, flat, and straight 
up, hers narrow and rounded ; her eyebrows 
are arched, while his arc straight ; her eyelids 
large and eyes drooping, his small, the eye 
rather staring ; her nose thin, sharp, and 
pointed downward, his broad and flattened 
horizontally, and with nostrils spreading out 

LUM I KASTIMJ KAl_t>. NO. *). 

sideways over the face. Her nasal septum 
ran in a curve into the upper lip, his at a 
sharp angle ; her mouth was small and had 
neatly-shaped lips with a slight pout, his 
mouth w r as a long slit in a square jaw ; her 
chin was thin and pointed, his was of great 
width. As a whole, her thin, pinched-up, 
delicate face was in extraordinary contrast to 

his, which was 
broad, square, and 
singularly coarse, 

It may, perhaps, 
be objected that 
these last are cari- 
catures* But what 
is a caricature ? 
It is a likeness in 
which the more 
striking and 
familiar features 
are slightly exag- 
gerated, but not 
falsified. The 
types are truthfully 
given, and we are 
here dealing solely 
with ty|)es. These 
sketches were not 
made in any spirit 
of caricature ; they 
were intended to 
represent the truth as nearly as I could get it. 
Each of them seems to me to represent a 
familiar enough type, but here we see them 
suddenly brought together as man and wife, 
and our law enables us to believe that they 
were very happy in finding one another, 

These examples must suffice to enable the 
reader, who is now in possession of a pro- 
visional but apparently accurate formula by 
which faces may be analyzed, to set about 
comparing and studying those of his friends* 
In many cases contrasts can be seen at the 
first glance ; in other cases only when the 
faces are carefully studied, 1 may add that 
during all the years I have been observing 
the faces of married couples I have never 
come across a single striking exception* It 
is true that some contrasts are better than 

But the witness of single couples, strong 
as it is 3 falls into insignificance before the 
fact already noted that, as soon as we begin 
to study a series of contrasting couples, we 
find the same contrast repeated again and 

Our point now is that, if we have such 
a law at all, it is obvious we ought to find 
men and wome:i who closely resemble one 




another marrying others who also closely 
resemble one another. And this, indeed, 
is exactly what happens. See, for instances, 
Nos, 2 and 3. 

A good mathematician could perhaps 
calculate the probability of two couples who 
resemble one another very closely marrying 
on the assumption of a mere haphazard 
sorting. It would be so small that the 
occurrence would verge on the miraculous. 
Given such a law of facial attraction as we 
are here expounding, it not only becomes 
probable, but ought even to happen with a 
degree of frequency depending upon the 
commonness or rarity of the particular type. 

It is many years since I first recognised 
the existence of double and triple couples, 
I will relate the circumstances, not only as 
interesting in themselves 7 but as one of the 
personal experiences which helped to reveal 
the law. 

The following is the story of the first 
double couple I ever noticed, I was on 
bowing terms with two people engaged to 
be married, the young woman being the 
daughter of my 
next - door neigh- 
bour. Their devo- 
tion to one an- 
other afforded 
amusement to cer- 
tain frivolous 
members of the 
household, and 
was of special in- 
terest to me on 
account of their 
contrasting facial 
types. The man 
had a large, plea- 
sant, full - moon 
face without any 
prominent fea- 
tures ; for the 

nose, though slightly pointed, was small and 
tended to point downward. The girl was an 
ideal contrast to him, for she was decidedly 
mignonne 7 and had a small, thin, sharp 
face with pretty little tip-tilted nose. The 
engagement, I heard, was to last a year. 
What was my astonishment to meet them, 
before two months were passed, on the plat- 
form of an out-of-the-way country railway 
station, obviously bnde and bridegroom 
on their honeymoon, and radiantly happy. 
I felt shy of intruding and wished to 
turn aside, but I had evidently been seen 
— at least, they were looking towards me, 
though without immediately recognising me* 


Retreat was impossible, so I advanced to 
meet them. I was in the act of raising my 
hat when I discovered it was another couple ! 
There was identically the same contrast. 
The men might have been twin brothers and 
the women twin sisters. 

Calling upon a lady in a country house in 
Surrey for the first time I was embarrassed 
by a curious feeling that I had known her 
before. She exactly resembled the wife of 
an old friend of mine who was at that time 
managing a factory in a remote corner of 
Europe. I even kept calling the new 

acquaintance in my mind "Mrs. J J /' 

and felt as if I ought to be at home with her, 
but was not. The husband was detained by 
business for half an hour. When at last I 
saw him coming across the garden it was my 

friend J J or his shadow, even to 

his smooth, clean-shaven, sallow, rather 
foreign type of face. This was so remark- 
able that I could not keep silent, and told 
my host and hostess of the strange coin^ 
cidence. These facts, added to what I had 
already observed, were surely enough to con- 

vince me that 
some law lies be- 
hind our love- 
making, removing 
it entirely from 
the realm of acci- 

While in the 
vein of personal 
narrative let me 
describe my first 
triplet of couples ; 
not that it can 
really strengthen 
the argument, for 
obviously such 
must occur, but 
again on account 
of interesting 
details, I once knew two brothers who showed 
a very strong family likeness to one another. 
They had wives who were not related, yet were 
also strikingly alike, not of course in minutia* 
of detail, but in general type, Both women 
were distinguished by rather long faces, large, 
prominent, and sharp noses, giving them an 
ap[>caranee of great strength of character, 
while their husbands had quite small faces 
and small, rounded noses. 

Now, these brothers always reminded me of 
a friend I had known fifteen years previously, 
the difference being that this friend's nose 
was smaller and thinner than theirs. The 
wife of this friend had the same type of face 




as the sister-in-law just mentioned, only her 
face was much softer, for the nose, though 
quite as large and prominent, was more 
rounded, giving . her a peculiar gentleness and 
sweetness of aspect. These italicized words 
were an involuntary outburst on the part of 
the writer, whose own nose is sharp and 
pointed. But this involuntary expression of 
admiration is not the only interesting point 
in the story, for here again we come across 
the importance of the finer details. 

The evidence, then, is slowly leading us 
to see that there is really only one type of 
face with which we can fall in love. Some 
others may attract us in various degrees, 
and we may even think we could love and 
get on happily with them, but there is only 
one which strikes home. 

That this proposition is really true we may 
gather from study of the works of great 
painters. It is surely 
matter of common 
knowledge that, in 
their imaginative works, 
painters seem never to 
get away from their 
own special types of 
beautiful women ; they 
may have many differ- 
ent models, but always 
paint one face. It is 
no exaggeration to say 
that Burne- Jones, for 
example, who some- 
times filled his canvas 
with women (in "The 
Golden Stairs " there 
are eighteen), painted 
them as if they were all 
sisters. The usual criticism is that the artist 
in such cases always painted his wife or 
daughter. But this is really too shallow. It 
would argue such paucity of inventiveness 
and power if a painter who ranged the whole 
field of imagination for variety of subject 
copied the same face into all his pictures. 

As soon as we understand that no other 
face but his own contrast can express the 
artist's love for his creations, any other bring- 
ing in a jarring note, this matter is at once 
simplified. He has to paint the only face 
fulfilling his dream of beauty. A tender 
passion guides his brush and, if he is a 
true artist, forces him to be faithful to his 

At the risk of perhaps shocking some of 
my readers, I must here return to my vein 
of narrative, and relate how the vast im- 
portance of minute shades of difference in 


the matter of facial contrast was first forced 
upon me. 

A girl became engaged, when very young, 
to be married, but later, without being able 
to give any satisfactory reason, broke off her 
engagement, and re-engaged herself to 
another man. Everyone who knew her (as 
I did) to be almost morbidly sensitive and 
considerate of the feelings of others was 
amazed at such apparent heartlessness. But 
let. us see what had actually taken place. 
She was slowly changing in appearance, and 
becoming more and more like her mother in 
face. And the man she eventually married 
was almost the exact image of her father ! 

We need not believe that she did any 
violence to her feelings in entering upon 
the first engagement. Her face was still 
unformed. . It had doubtless been a good 
contrast to her first love at the time of her 
engagement, but gradu- 
ally ceased to be so as 
it grew to its definite 
type. Her affections 
passed automatically 
to her more perfect 

A young man asked 
for my advice and help 
under the following 
circumstances. He was 
engaged to be married 
to an actress, unknown 
to his relations, whose 
opinion of his fiancee 
he thought very proble- 
matical. This set me 
wondering what the 
girl was like, and for 
amusement I prepared a rough contrast 
to his face in the manner suggested. If 
I had not already been convinced of the 
truth of the law, the sight of that girl when 
I did see her would have convinced me. 
Though I had no other guide whatever than 
the young man's face, my prospective sketch 
of her profile was quite as like it as any of 
the old black silhouettes of our grandparents 
were like the originals. The engagement, 
necessarily a long one, was broken off. Six 
years later he married someone else, who, to 
my surprise, had what seemed to me quite a 
different type of face. This was puzzling, for 
it was impossible that I could have pro- 
phesied so correctly if there had been no 
law of facial contrasts. What had become 
of it now? As soon as I had another 
opportunity of studying the man's face, 
the matter was clear. During the interval 




his features had undergone a very con- 
siderable change. When he was young 
and slim, with a youthful, unformed appear- 
ance, his nose was too large for the 
rest of his face, and decidedly aggressive, 
with an inclination to be pendulous over a 
weak mouth and chin. The first woman had 
great depth of jaw and upper lip and a 
minute, very tip-tilted nose. Six years later 
the man was much stouter and his face 
fuller; his nose was now in better propor- 
tion and, by the lowering of the nasal 
septum, had lost the tendency to bend over. 
The second girl had a length of jaw nearly 
as great as that of the first, but her nose was 
not so very small or tip-tilted, but, on the 
contrary, bent sufficiently downwards to hide 
all traces of the nasal septum from front view, 
and this little change in the nose made the 
two women appear to be of absolutely 
different types. 

So far I have dealt only with the positive 
side of the law of facial attraction, and I 
have accumulated evidence to show that, by 
some mysterious dictate of Nature, people 
with types of face falling on opposite sides 
of a standard are disposed to love one 
another, the attraction presumably increasing 
with the degree of completeness of the con- 
trast. We now come to the negative side of 
the same law, i.e., that faces of the same type 
repel one another, and that the feeling of 
repulsion becomes more acute as the similarity 
approaches perfection. If this also holds 
good, who can doubt any longer that we have 
unravelled a new secret of Nature, or rather 
found a loose end towards such an unravel- 
ling ? We might perhaps have concluded 
that the law would act in both directions, for, 
if it is the case that faces fulfilling certain 
conditions attract one another, Nature would 
have left her work incomplete unless she 
had also arranged that those not fulfilling the 
conditions should fail to attract one another. 
A physical indifference might scarcely be 
enough, positive repulsion being required. 

We all know as a matter of fact that we 
occasionally feel such a repulsion for persons 
of the opposite sex. I have already mentioned 
that it was this curious and spontaneous feel- 
ing of dislike which helped very early to draw 
my attention to the whole subject. This 
feeling became of continually greater interest 
to me as I grew older, and found, for instance, 
that no material advantages could overcome 
my aversion to a particular marriage. Since 
those days I have frequently heard from 
the lips of others that persons existed 
whom they liked and deeply respected, 

Vol xxix.— 8. 

but whom they could on no account 
bring themselves lo marry. We have all 
heard of girls in distressed circumstances, 
struggling, it may be, with poverty, who were 
compelled, as if by madness, to refuse the 
most advantageous offers of marriage. It 
was the more like madness because they 
could give no reason to their friends, who 
never ceased urging that they should consent, 
while a peculiar sense of physical repulsion 
wrung from them the asseveration that they 
would sooner die. As to the existence of 
this aversion there can be no doubt. That 
it has to do chiefly with the face I feel sure. 
Natural shrinking from physical deformity 
may be overcome by sentiments of sympathy 
and chivalry which are quite consistent with 
romantic love, and may even help to increase 
it. The antipathy I have been describing 
would prove as intense if its object had the 
figure of the Venus of Milo. 

Positive proof that this well-known feeling 
of repulsion is a matter of facial resemblance 
is not easy to get. Appeals to married 
couples can hardly help us. Indeed, one 
argument may be drawn from marriages 
which seems to refute us on the spot. While 
it is true that married couples show us so 
many facial contrasts, yet it has often been 
remarked that, as time passes, a man and 
wife who have been happily mated not 
seldom show a remarkable facial resemblance 
to one another. 

Now, this I know is often affirmed, but 
since I have been on the look-out for such a 
couple I have failed entirely to find one. * I 
quite admit that as the faces lose their dis- 
tinctiveness and take on the characteristics of 
old age they approach one another in that 
respect, and, further, that if they have lived in 
great harmony they may easily have acquired 
the same expression. Two old faces looking 
at you with the same expression might 
certainly look very much alike. But I am 
convinced that an analysis of the features 
would still show traces of the fundamental 
contrast which originally drew them together. 

In this absence of objective evidence that 
it is the resemblance between faces which 
makes them mutually displeasing to one 
another I have to fall back again on personal 

I first became aware of the fact from an 
adventure in a railway train. I was alone in 
a carriage when a woman came in and sat 
down in the opposite corner. As I was 
reading, I took no particular notice of her at 
first. But when at last I chanced to look 
up I had(^hfj|-mGSt horrible sensation: a 




sudden indescribable feeling of nausea. She 
was almost the very image of myself, not 
only in features, but also in colouring, The 
circumstance so astonished me that for 
days and weeks it kept coming back, and 
that one glance (for I could 
not look) is imprinted in- 
delibly on my memory. I 
always see her in the same 
position, and am conscious 
of the same pair of eyes 
gazing at me> and I always 
wonder whether 1 caused the 
same disagreeable sensation 
in her as she all unwittingly 
caused in me. 

I have, however, stronger 
evidence than this. Fortune 
gave me a striking example 
which should satisfy the 
greatest sceptic. 

I was once anxious to 
help a friend to dispose of 
some pictures, One of the 
most valuable represented the face of a woman 
and dated from the middle of the eighteenth 
century. It was beautifully painted and 
evidently a portrait, for the type of coun- 
tenance was not conventional No. r2 is 
not a reproduction of the picture, but is 
taken from a rough sketch intended only 
to give an idea of the face. I showed 
it to several persons, who all admired it 
immensely. The owner had kept it in his 
bedroom for years, and felt as if he were 
parting with a friend in try- 
ing to sell it 1 made a 
note of the fact that those 
who were most enthusiastic 
about the portrait were men 
with short faces coming out 
to a keel and with promin- 
ent, high-bridged noses. At 
last I found a wealthy man 
who collected pictures. On 
my report of this one he 


decided to buy. As I looked at his own 
face I felt some misgivings, justified by the 
sequel. I happened to be present when 
he was introduced to the portrait. The 
disappointment was tremendous. He could 
not endure even to glance 
at it a second time. The 
excellence of the workman- 
ship had not been exagger- 
ated ; but the face, it was 
"so ugfy* Some doubts 
had troubled me, but for 
such an involuntary and em- 
phatic expression of feeling 
I certainly was not prewired. 
It must have been auto- 
matic, because he was a man 
of scrupulous honour* who 
would never go back upon 
his word to anyone else's 
loss. Evidently he felt as I 
* did that day in the train when 
I encountered my female 
double. On no account 
live with that face in the 

could he 
house 1 

The end of the story is remarkable. Not 
wishing to disappoint my friend altogether, 
he wandered round the room and, after a 
little time, bought two portraits, both heads 
of women, sisters> and very like each other* 
No. 13 shows the type. Here we have cases 
of repulsion and attraction following rapidly 
on one another, both automatic, and no other 
interpretation can be put upon them than 
that which is given. 

My space is at an end. 
Those who desire to follow 
the subject further, especi- 
ally with regard to objec- 
tions which appear to teil 
against it, may be referred 
to a little volume under the 
same title which will shortly 
be announced for publication. 


by Google 

Original from 

The Heart of a Grandfather. 

By Katharine Tynan, 


t i*yj 





ET me hear no more of this 
folly, Rupert/ 1 the Judge had 
said. " I will never give my 
consent Let there be an 
end of it ! » 

It was a good many years 
ago, eight at least, since the words had been 
spoken. The Judge had been in his dress- 
ing-room, making ready for a dinner-party. 
He was a very busy man, and the son who 
was proud of hmi had snatched at the 
minutes of the day when they might be 
together. During 
the season the 
Judge dined out 
most evenings of 
the week. If, as it 
happened that even- 
ing, his only son's 
social engagements 
lay in another direc- 
tion, Rupert was 
sure to be found in 
the Judge's dressing- 
room, talking over 
the events of the 
day while the Judge 
tied his white tie 
and got into a 
swallow-tail, usually 
in a violent hurry 
because he had sat 
so late. Between 
the shaving and the 
brushing and the 
donning of evening 
clothes— that even^ 
ing the services of 
a valet were dis- 
pensed wit h — 
Rupert's love-affair 
was put out of court 
by his father. 

" Let me hear no 
more of it," he had said ; and the ivory 
pallor of his face had no accession of colour, 
the lines of his handsome mouth closed 
till the lips were hardly visible, the curiously- 
piercing bright grey eyes were inflexible to 
the boy to whom he had never refused any- 
thing from his cradle. 

During the day knowledge of Ruperts 
infatuation for the poor daughter of a country 
vicar had come to his father. He was not 
angry with Rupert. Lads would have th- 

Digitized by VjOOglc 


follies } he thought, with fond con temp tuous- 
ness. Only — it must go no farther ; there 
must be an end of it He never doubted 
that he would be obeyed. When had he 
and Rupert not seen things from the same 
standpoint ? 

If he had noticed the set look of the 
young face that was so startlingly like his 
own — as he might have noticed it in the 
glass — his opinion regarding the finality of 
his decision would, perhaps, have undergone 
a change. But he had always been accus- 
tomed to imposing 
his will upon more 
than his immediate 
circle. Fortunately 
he was too big a 
man to be a tyrant, 
and the will was 
generally for the 
good of those con- 
cerned. And, to 
be sure, he and 
Rupert had always 
seen eye to eye, 
There had never 
been a more devoted 
father and son. 
They didn't talk 
much about it ; but 
the Judge knew his 
son's pride in and 
love for him as the 
son knew his father's 
satisfaction in him. 

That matter of 
Miss Conyers in 
time passed from 
the Judge's mind. 
At the moment it 
bad startled him ; 
but then he had 
taken the reasonable 
view. Hot-headed, 
generous lads like Rupert must have their 
Impracticable follies. He didn't want twenty- 
three to have the wisdom of fifty. And the 
boy had not protested. There had not been 
another word about it. After all, Rupert had 
seen that his father knew best for him. 
What was the attraction between girl and boy, 
the mere passing folly, as compared with the 
love which had been father's and mother's 
love to Rupert all his days ? 

Howeve€;'rJ|i^f)f-9WP passed, the Judge 





had one cause of dissatisfaction with his 
otherwise wholly satisfactory son. Rupert 
showed himself curiously indifferent, or at 
best merely friendly, to all women. The 
Judge did not like it. He had made his 
way from the comparatively humble position 
of the son of a country solicitor to almost 
the top of the tree. As the years passed his 
honours and eminence grew with them. He 
had accepted a title. He was now Lord 
Lethwayt. In course of time the title would 
come to Rupert The Judge had an oddly 
human desire — or it would have seemed 
oddly human to those who called him a man 
of steel and adamant — to hold his grandson 
in his arms before he died. He wanted 
to know that the title he had created and 
made greatly significant was going to be 
handed on. Beyond that he had an 
unexpected fondness for children. To 
children, and to dogs and horses, the Judge 
ceased to be a terrible person. 

Rupert had shown no leaning for the 
profession of the law. He was a soldier, in 
a smart cavalry regiment which had its 
quarters between London and Windsor. He 
had done very decently in his profession, and 
had won his company in the ordinary way ; 
but he had seen little service. There had 
been piping times of peace for so long that 
people had forgotten what war was like. 

The Judge had been saving for his only 
son. When Rupert succeeded to the title he 
would have plenty of money to keep it up 
with. Sandridge Park, the Judge's seat, was 
one of the prettiest places of its size in 
England. There was also the house in 
Portman Square. All those years mothers 
and daughters alike had been ready to 
smile on Rupert Lethwayt ; but, so far as 
the father could see, he never so much as 
flirted. It was very disappointing for the 
founder of his own fame, who desired a 
grandson to carry on the glories of the 
name he had made honourable. 

Then came a little cloud from the dark 
places of the earth, which was to grow till 
it lay over England like a shadow. Calamity 
followed calamity, till it seemed as though 
every soldier the country possessed must be 
put into the fighting line. But the hot days 
of summer had come before Rupert's regiment 
was ordered to the seat of war. 

For some time the regiment had been 
awaiting orders. It was a glorious June, 
The weather had come that makes men 
think of the sea with longing. 

On the west coast of England] there is a 
little cove which the tripper has not yet 


discovered. There the Judge and his son 
had spent many a happy vacation while 
Rupert was a small boy. But of late years 
the Judge had not revisited Haworth Cove ; 
he was getting on in years now, and took the 
cure at a German spa year after year with 

This summer he was not so well. He 
would not have acknowledged for worlds how 
his son's regiment being ordered out weighed 
on his mind. Why, if Rupert were killed — 
so many eldest and only sons were being 
killed every day, and Rupert was safe to be 
found in the fighting line — if Rupert were 
killed it would be an end of everything. He 
would be a lonely, heart-broken old man, the 
first and the last Baron Lethwayt. 

The papers mentioned that Lord Lethwayt 
was absent from the Bench owing to indis- 
position. Lord Lethwayt, in his library at 
Portman Square, was writing a letter to his 
son : — 

" My Dear Boy, — Fm off work and liverish. 
I am running down for a few days to 
Haworth, and propose that you shall join 
me there. You will have no difficulty in 
getting a week's leave. It will be like the 
old days. — Your affectionate father v 

" Lethwayt. 

"P.S. — I go by the ten train from 
Paddington to-morrow morning." 

The letter did not reach Captain the Hon, 
Rupert Lethwayt, for the excellent reason 
that he had already left his quarters for a 
week's leave. Nor did he see that paragraph 
in the papers about his father's indisposition, 
else he would have been disquieted. 

When the Judge had finished the letter 
and affixed his big, old-fashioned seal he sat 
staring at it for a moment, during which he 
looked oddly unhappy for a man of steel 
and adamant. His old grievance of Rupert's 
aversion to matrimony came into his mind, 
and following the train of thought he re- 
membered Rupert's one love-affair, the love- 
affair which he had nipped in the bud so 
remorselessly nearly a decade of years ago. 
For the first time in his life he wondered if 
he had been right to act as he did. He 
might have seen the girl, at all events. And 
she was well-born, the eldest daughter 
of a poor scholar with a houseful of 
children. He might have seen her. To 
be sure, he had had other views for Rupert. 
But then Rupert had set them at naught. 
The Lady Floras and Lady Hildas of those 
days whom he had thought of as worthy 
mates for his boy, and certain, one or the 
other, to please his fancy 7 had become wives 




of other men and mothers of their children, 
If Rupert had married Agnes Conyers she 
might have given him half-a-dozen children 
by this time, grandchildren for the Judge. 

" It is a bad thing to have all your eggs in 
one basket/* the Judge said, drearily, aloud, 
in the splendid dim room, 

He caught the ten train at Paddington 
next day. As he bustled along the platform, 
where people stared and pointed him out to 
<ja<h other — the illustrated papers had made 
his face well known — he looked about him 
for Rupert with a chill sense of disappoint- 
ment, Rupert had always been punctual 
when it was a question of their meeting. 
Supposing he had not been able to get leave ! 
There had been no answer to the letter* 
Then their few days' holiday together must be 
given up, and there might never again be a 
chance; their times together might be over 
in this world. 

The Judge sighed Impatiently as he 
followed his man-servant along the line of 
carriages. Then for an instant he smiled. 
It was at the sight of a first-class carriage 
filled to overflowing, it seemed, with babies 
and nurses. There were really five children 
and two nurses, but there were innumerable 
small packages, and spades and pails, and 
luncheon-baskets and picture- books, and a 
small yelping dog* The children were 
crowding over each other to look out of the 
carriage windows. 
A small, bullet- 
headed boy about 
six years old 
caught the Judge's 
eye. His face was 
like a small dark 
peach. He had a 
remarkably sturdy 
air, as though he 
viewed the world 
as a thing for his 
delight t and he 
smiled and waved 
his hand to the 
Judge The Judge 
smiled backat him. 

M We're going 
to the sea," said 
the boy. " Don't 
you wish you were 
going too ? * 

u Don't be so for- 
ward, Master Jim," 
said the prim head 
nurse, pulling him 

The Judge would have pursued the 
acquaintance if he had not caught sight of 
his son in the next carriage, 

" So glad you were able to come, my boy," 
he called out, exuberantly glad that he was 
not going to be disappointed of those few 
days after all ; he only realized as his heart 
bounded up how great the disappointment 
would have been. " I was afraid you couldn't 
get leave after all when I didn't meet you at 
the booking-office. Hot, isn't it? It will 
be good at Haworth these days." 

The man-servant was putting in his small 
luggage* There was a boy with a tray of 
papers at the carriage-door. In the bustle oi 
getting in and settling the Judge did not 
notice the consternation in his sons face, nor 
the rapid telegraphy of the eyes that passed 
between him and a young lady who sat in the 
corner of the carriage, partly hidden behind 
a ladies* paper. In this moment of joyous 
excitement the Judge did not remember that 
the lady had been sitting opposite to Rupert 
when first he caught sight of him. If he 
had remembered he would have thought it 
obliging of her to have made room for him 
so rapidly, getting into the farthest corner 
of the carriage and gathering her belongings 
to her as though there were not, according 
to the railway company's estimate, still 
three empty seats to be filled. 

Certainly the young lady effaced herself as 

ed by t_ 






much as possible* She might hardly have 
existed for all the hindrance she was to 
Rupert and his father during the four hours' 
journey. Once the Judge, glancing her way, 
casually caught sight of a rounded cheek like 
a peach, not altogether unlike ihe cheek of 
his young friend next door. For the moment 
she had lowered the paper, and there was a 
dimple playing charmingly in her cheek. 
The Judge had been talking of the children 
in the next carriage. Then while he glanced 
at her in his abrupt way the paper went up 
again and the dimple was hidden. 

When at last they reached Haworth 
Rupert left the carriage so hurriedly as 
to amaze his father. The Judge, having 
looked after him for a moment with some 
surprise, waited, and helped the young lady 
to alight. He was the most punctilious of 
old-fashioned gentlemen, and he fumed a 
little as he went after his son, having left the 
young lady amid her belongings on the plat- 
form, the centre of the group of children 
from the next carriage. 

" Odd that she should not have travelled 
with them," he thought to himself. " Their 
eldest sister, perhaps, or perhaps a young 
aunt. Hardly their mother. She didn't 
look as if she couldn't bear the chatter of 
children either." 

For by this time he knew more of his late 
travelling companion than the dimple. He 
had a memory of a vivacious and charming 
face, with beautiful brown eyes and the most 
lovely brunette colouring. She was really 
very like the small boy in the next carriage 
at whom the Judge had looked enviously. 

He grumbled as he met Rupert half-way 
down the platform and yielded up his bag to 
him. Rupert answered something vaguely 
about having had to send a telegram to 
someone or other. 

" The fly from the Jolly Waggoner is 
outside," he said, with an air of hurry and 
perturbation. "I have asked old John to 
collect the luggage. I thought we might 
walk over the sand-hills ; I am stiff, being 
cooped up so long." 

The Judge had no objection. He was a 
believer in regular exercise, and while he was 
in town might be met any morning of the 
year in the Row on his chestnut, at hours 
when other men w T ere turning over sleepily 
before awaking. 

Still he hesitated after he had greeted old 
John, the coachman from the Waggoner. 

" Hadn't we better wait and assist that young 
lady with the children ? I don't see anything 
here for her. She may be rather stranded." 


" Oh, come on, you Quixotic person," cried 
Rupert, thrusting an arm through his father's. 
" As a matter of fact, you are hindering her. 
Old John has to leave her at her lodgings as 
soon as he has done with us." 

" Why not leave her first ? " 

" Very well, sir. Indeed, for the matter of 
that, if we walk John can drop our bags as 
he passes by the Waggoner. John, drive 
the lady and children over ; we'll walk. 
Come along, sir." 

The Judge, as a matter of fact, wanted to 
stay and make better acquaintance with the 
children, but his son hustled him along just 
before the shouting and joyous group emerged 
from the door of the railway station. Master 
Jim was dancing along with his hand in 
Gregory the porter's hand, and as he came 
in sight he shouted a greeting to old John. 
The sound of the exhilarating little voice 
followed the Judge and his son as they 
climbed the hill 

"They seem to have been here before," 
said the Judge. 

"Very probably." 

" I hope the place hasn't grown much. It 
must be a good many years since we were 
here together." 

" There is a range of new cottages down 
by the coastguards', and a couple of bunga- 
lows on the cliff. The great world has not 
yet found out Haworth." 

"Ah ! " The Judge glanced sharply at his 
son. " I didn't know you were at Haworth 
since we were here together, Rupert." 

" Last year, when you were at Schwallen- 

Captain Rupert looked confused. What 
had come to the boy, the Judge asked, 
wonderingly. He had always been able to 
read him like a book. No secrets between 
them ever. Other men's sons might be 
sealed books to their fathers. Not Rupert 
They saw eye to eye ; they felt heart to heart 

" I am glad the place is yet unspoilt," the 
Judge went on, after a second's pause. " I 
am glad we can be here together for these 
few days in quietness." 

The talk turned to other topics. As they 
crossed the hill the fly with the lady and 
children passed them by. The small boy 
shouted a greeting which the Judge took to 
be to himself, and raised his hat to the 
youngster with a delighted eye. As the 
carriage went on out of sight he sighed, 
and Rupert looked at him curiously. It 
was the first time he had heard his father 

Mrs. Shadbolt, ]n jftf^ Jolly Waggoner, 


The Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt. 


WAS suddenly aroused by the 
abrupt stopping of the special 
train, all filled with Rowers and 
decorated with flags, in which 
I had travelled from New York 
after my last performance at 
the theatre in order to visit Menlo Park, the 
residence of Thomas Alva Edison. 

It was two o'clock in the morning, very 
dark, and the snow was falling silently in 
heavy flakes. A carriage was waiting and 
its one lamp served to light up the whole 
station, for orders had been given that the 
electric lights should be put out. I found my 
way with the help of Jarrett and some of my 
friends, The intense cold froze the snow as it 
fell, and we walked over veritable blocks of 
sharp, jagged ice, which crackled under our 
feet. Behind the 
first carriage was 
another heavier 
one, with only 
one horse and no 
lamp. There was 
room for five or 
six persons to 
crowd into this. 
We were ten in 
all, and Jarrett t 
Abbey, a friend 
of mine, and I 
took our places in 
the first one, leav- 
ing the others to 
get into the 
second. We 
looked like a 
band of conspira- 
tors. The dark 
night, the two 

jump — my travelling companions, the coach- 
man, the horse, and L As quick as thought 
the whole country was suddenly illuminated. 
Under the trees, on the trees, among the 
bushes along the garden walks, lights flashed 
forth triumphantly- The wheels of the 
carriage turned a few more times and then 
drew up at the house of the famous Thomas 
Alva Edison. 

A group of people awaited us on the 
veranda — four men, two ladies, and a young 
girl. My he-art began to heal quickly as I 
wondered which of these men was Edison* 
I had never seen his photograph, and I 
had the greatest admiration for his genius. 
I sprang out of the carriage, and the 
dazzling electric light made it seem like day, 
I took the bouquet which Mrs, Edison offered 


mysterious car- 
riages, the silence caused by the icy cold- 
ness, the way in which we were muffled in 
our furs, and our anxious expression as we 
glanced around us — all this made our visit 
to the celebrated Edison resemble a scene 
out of an operetta. 

The carriage rolled along, sinking deep 
into the snow and jolting terribly ; the jolts 
made us dread every instant some tragi- 
comic accident. I cannot tell how long we 
had been rolling along, for, lulled by the 
movement of the carriage and buried in my 
warm furs, I was quietly dozing, when a for- 
midable " Hip-hip-hurrah !" made us all 

VoL **!*.— ©# Copyright, tyo^ by ( 

me and thanked her for it, but all the time I 
was endeavouring to discover which of these 
was the Great Man. They all four advanced 
towards me, but I noticed the flush that came 
into the face of one of them, and it was so 
evident from the expression of his blue eyes 
that he was intensely bored that I guessed 
this was Edison. I felt confused and em- 
barrassed myself, for I knew very well that 
I was causing this man inconvenience by 
my visit. He, of course, imagined that 
it was due to the idle curiosity of a foreigner 
eager to court publicity. He was, no 
doubt, thinking Qf the interviewing in 

»*OTEe Newnes J-irnilcd 





store for him the following day, and 
of the stupidities ho would Ik: made to utter. 
He was suffering beforehand at the idea of 
the ignorant questions I should ask him, of 
all the explanations he would, out of polite- 
ness, be obliged to give me, and at that 
moment Thomas Edison took a dislike to 
me. His wonderful blue eyes, more luminous 
than his incandescent lamps, enabled me to 
read his thoughts, I immediately under- 
stood that he must be won over, and my 
combative instinct had recourse to all my 
powers of fascina- 
tion, in order to 
vanquish this 
delightful, but 
bashful, savant 
I made such an 
effort and suc- 
ceeded so well 
that half an hour 
later we were the 
best of friends. 
I followed him 
about quickly, 
climbing u p 
staircases as nar- 
row and steep as 
ladders, crossing 
bridges hang- 
ing in the air 
aljove veritable 
furnaces, and he 
explained every- 
thing to me, I 
understood it all, 
and I admired 
him more and 
more, for he was 
so simple and 
charming, this 


king of light* 
As we leaned over a slightly unsteady 
bridge, above the terrible abyss in which 
immense wheels, encased in wide driving- 
belts, were turning and rumbling, he gave 
various orders in a clear voice, and light 
then burst forth on all sides, sometimes 
in sputtering, greenish jets, sometimes in 
quick flashes, or in serpentine trails like 
streams of fire. I looked at this man of 
medium size, with rather a large head and a 
noble-looking profile, and I thought of 
Napoleon L There is certainly a great 
physical resemblance between these two 
men, and I am sure that one compart- 
ment of their brains would be found to 
be identical. Of course, I do not compare 
their genius. The one was " destructive " 

Digitized by GOOS I C 

and the other " creative " ; but whilst 
I execrate battles I adore victories, and, 
in spite of his errors, I have raised an 
altar in my heart to that god of glory, 
Napoleon ! I therefore looked at Edison 
thoughtfully, for he reminded me of the great 
man who was dead. The deafening sound 
of the machinery, the darling rapidity of the 
changes of light, all that together made my 
head whirl, and, forgetting where I was, I 
leaned for support on the slight balustrade 
which separated me from the abyss beneath. 

I was so uncon- 
scious of all 
danger that, be- 
fore I had re- 
covered from my 
surprise, Edison 
had helped me 
into an adjoin- 
ing room and in- 
stalled me in an 
armchair without 
my realizing how 
it had all hap- 
pened. He told 
me afterwards 
that I had turned 

After having 
done the honours 
of his new tele- 
phone and of his 
astonish ing 
phonograph , 
Edison offered 
me his arm and 
took me to the 
where I found 
his family assem- 
bled, I was very 
tired, and did justice to the supper that had 
been so hospitably prepared for us, 

1 left Menlo Park at four o'clock in the 
morning, and this time the country round, 
the roads, and the station were all lighted 
up by the thousands of jets of my kind host. 
What a strange power of suggestion the 
darkness has ! I thought I had travelled a 
long way that night, and it seemed to me 
that the roads were impracticable. It proved 
to be quite a short distance, and the roads 
were charming, although they were now 
covered with snow, Imagination had played 
a great part during the journey to Edison's 
house, but reality played a much greater one 
during the same journey back to the station* 
I was enthusiastic in my admiration of the 




inventions of this man, and 1 was charmed 
with his timid graciousness and perfect 
courtesy, and with his profound love of 

The next day, or rather that same day, for 
it was then four in the morning, I started 
with my company for Boston, Mr. Abbey, 
my impresario, had arranged for me to 
have a delightful "car/" but it was nothing 
like the wonderful Pullman that I was to have 
from Philadelphia for continuing my tour. I 
was very much pleased with this one, never- 
theless, when I entered the car which had 
been reserved for me. In the middle of the 
room there was a real lied, large and com- 
fortable, on a brass bedstead. Then 
there were an arm-chair, a pretty dressing- 
table, a basket tied up 
with ribbons for my 
dog, and flowers every- 
where, but flowers with- 
out an overpowering 
perfume. The mem- 
bers of my company 
were installed in a long 
car fitted up with beds 
which shut down during 
the clay to form sofas, 
There were little tables 
in front of these, so 
that they could take 
meals there, write, play 
cards, draughts, etc. 
In the car adjoining 
mine were my own 
servants, who were also 
very comfortable. I 
went to bed feeling 
thoroughly satisfied, 
and woke up in 

A large crowd was 
assembled at the 
station, There were 
reporters and curious 
men and women, a public decidedly more 
interested than friendly, not badly intent ioned, 
but by no means enthusiastic. Public 
opinion in New York had been greatly 
occupied with me during die past month. 
I had been both criticised and glorified. 
Calumnies of all kinds, stupid and 
disgusting, foolish and odious, had been 
circulated about me. Some people blamed 
and others admired the disdain with which 
I had treated these scandals, but everyone 
knew that I had won in the end, and that 
I had triumphed over all and everything. 
Boston knew, too, that clergymen had 

Digitized by Lit 

preached from their pulpits saying that I 
had been sent by the Old World to corrupt 
the New World, and that my art was an in- 
spiration of the Evil One. Everyone knew 
all this, but the public wanted to see for 
itself. Boston belongs especially to the 
women. Tradition says that it was a woman 
who first set foot in Boston. Women form 
the majority there. They are Puritanical, with 
intelligence, and independent with a certain 
grace, I passed between the two lines 
formed by this strange and courteous crowd, 
and just as I was about to get into my 
carriage a lady advanced towards me and 
said, " Welcome to Boston, madame ! 
Welcome, madame/' and she held out a soft 
little hand to me. (American women 


generally have charming hands and feet.) 

Other people now approached and smiled, 

and I had to shake hands with many of 

them. I took a fancy to this city at once, 

but all the same I was furious for a moment 

when a reporter sprang on to the steps of the 

carriage, just as we were driving away. He 

was in a greater hurry and more audacious 

than any of the others, but he was certainly 

overstepping the limits, and I pushed the 

wretched man back angrily, Jarrett was pre- 

[>ared for this and saved him by the collar of 

his coat, otherwise he would have fallen upon 

the pavement, as he deserved, 
1 Original from 




"At what time will you come and get on 
the whale tomorrow?" this extraordinary 
I>ersonage asked- I gazed at him in be- 
wilderment He spoke French perfectly and 
repeated his question, , 

"He's mad," I said in a low voice to 
J arret t 

" No, madame, I am not mad, hut I should 
like to know at what time you will come and 
get on the whale? It would be better, per- 
haps, to come this evening, for we are afraid 
it may die in the night, and it would be a 
pity for you not to come and pay it a visit 
while it still has breath," 

He went on talking, and as he talked he 
half sealed himself beside J arret t, who was 

all over, who was wearing a fur cap pulled 
down over his eyes and an enormous 
diamond in his cravat. He was the strangest 
type of the old-fashioned Yankee, He did 
not speak a word of French, but he took his 
seat calmly by Jarrett, whilst the reporter 
remained half sitting and half hanging to the 
vehicle. We were three when we started 
from the station, and we were five when we 
reached the Hotel Veil do me. There were a 
great many people awaiting my arrival, and I 
was quite ashamed of my new companion. 
He talked in a loud voice, laughed, coughed, 
spat, addressed everyone, and gave everyone 
invitations* All the people seemed to be 
delighted. A little girl threw her arms round 


still holding him by the collar, lest he should 
fall out of the carriage, 

" But, monsieur," 1 exclaimed, "what 
do you mean? What is all this about a 
whale ? w 

" Ah, madamCj" he replied, " it is admir- 
able, enormous. It is here in the harbour, 
and there are men employed day and night 
to break the ice all round it." 

He broke off suddenly, and standing on 
the carriage step he clutched the driver. 

" Stop ! Stop ! " he called out. " Hi, hi, 
Henry, come here ! Here's madame ; here 
she is ! " 

The carriage drew up, and without any 
further ceremony he jumped down and 
pushed into mv carriage a little man, square 

Digitized by GoOglC 

her father's neck, exclaiming, " Oh, yes, papa ; 
do, please, let us go ! " 

"Well, but we must ask madame/' he 
replied, and he came up to me in the most 
polite and courteous manner. " Will you 
kindly allow us to join your party when you 
go to see the whale tomorrow? 5 ' he asked, 

"But, monsieur," I answered, delighted to 
have to do with a gentleman once more, 
11 1 have no idea what all this means. For 
the last quarter of an hour this reporter and 
that extraordinary man have been talking 
about a whale. They declare, authoritatively, 
that I must go and pay it a visit, and I know 
absolutely nothing about it. These two 
gentlemen took my carriage by storm, in 

stalled themselves in it without my permission. 

Original from - * f 




and, as you see, are giving invitations in my 
name to people whom I do not know, asking 
them to go with me to a place about which I 
know nothing for the purpose of paying a 
visit to a whale which is to be introduced to 
me and which is waiting impatiently to die in 

The kindly-disposed gentleman signed to 
his daughter to come with us, and, accom- 
panied by them, by Jarrett, and Mme. 
Guerard, I went up in a lift to the door 
of my suite of rooms, I found my apart- 
ments hung with valuable pictures and full of 
magnificent statues, I felt rather disturbed 
in my mind, for among these objects of art 
were two or three very rare and beautiful 
things which I knew must have cost an 
enormous price. I was afraid lest any of 
them should be stolen, and 1 spoke of my 
fear to the proprietor of the hotel. 

li Mr. X -, to whom the knick-knacks 

belong," he answered, u wishes you to have 
them to look at as long as you are here, 
mademoiselle, and when I expressed my 
anxiety about them to him, just as you have 
done to me, he merely remarked that * it was 
alt the same to him/ " As to the pictures, 
they belonged to two wealthy Bostonians* 
There was among them a superb Millet, 
which 1 should very much have liked to own. 

After expressing my gratitude and admir- 
ing these treasures, I asked for an explanation 
of the story of the whale, and Mr. Max 
Gordon, the father of the little girl, translated 
for me what the 
little man in the 
fur cap had said. 

It appeared 
that he owned 
several fishing- 
boats, which he 
sent out to get cod- 
fish for his own 
benefit One of 
these boats had 
captured an enor- 
mous whale, which 
still had the two 
harpoons in it* 
The |x>or creature, 
thoroughly ex- 
hausted with its 
struggles, was 
several miles far- 
ther along the 
coast, but it had 
been easy to cap- 
ture it and bring 
it in triumph to 

Henry Smith, the owner of the boats. It 
was difficult to say by what freak of fancy 
and by what turn of the imagination this man 
had arrived at associating in his mind the 
idea of the whale and my name as a source 
of wealth, I could not understand it, but the 
fact remained that he insisted in such a droll 
way and so authoritatively and energetically 
that the following morning, at seven o'clock, 
fifty persons assembled, in spite of the icy- 
cold rain, to visit the whale, 

Mr* Gordon had given orders that his 
coach, with four beautiful horses, should l>e 
in readiness. He himself drove, and his 
daughter, Jarrett, my sister, Mine. Guerard, 
and another elderly lady, whose name I have 
forgotten, were with us. Seven other car- 
riages followed. It was all very amusing 
indeed. On our arrival at the wharf we were 
received by this comic Henry, shaggy-looking 
this time from head to foot and his hands 
encased in fingerless woollen gloves. Only 
his eyes and his huge diamond shone out 
from his furs, I walked along the wharf, 
very much amused and interested. There 
were a few idlers looking on also, and, 
alas ! there were reporters, Henry's shaggy 
paw seized my hand, and he drew mc quickly 
along with him to the staircase. I only just 
escaped breaking my neck at least a dozen 
times* He pushed me along, made me 
stumble down ten dangerous steps, and 
I next found myself on the back of the 
whale. They assured me that it still 

by {j 






7 o 


breathed, though I should not like to affirm 
that it really did, hut the splashing of the 
water breaking its eddy against the poor 
creature caused it to oscillate slightly. 
Then, too, it was covered with glazed frost, 
and twice I fell down full length on its 
spine. I laugh about it now, but I was 
furious then. Everyone around me insisted, 
however, on my [Hilling a piece of whale- 
bone from the blade of the poor s captured 
creature, one of those little bones which 
are used for women's corsets. I did 
not like to do this, as I feared to cause 
it suffering, and I was sorry for the poor 
thing, as three of us — Henry, the little 

from the coach as quickly as his age and 
corpulence would allow him, 

" If you are going to drive I prefer getting 
down," he said, and he took his place in 
another carriage. I changed seats boldly 
with Mr* Gordon in order to drive, and we 
had not gone a hundred yards before I had 
let the horses make for a drug-store near the 
wharf and got the coach itself up on to the 
sidewalk, so that if it had not been for the 
quickness and energy of Mr. Gordon we 
should all have been killed. On arriving at 
the hotel I went to bed and stayed there until 
it was time for the theatre in the evening. We 
played " Hernani " that night to a full house. 


Gordon girl, and I— had been skating about 
on its back for the last ten minutes. 
Finally I decided to do it I pulled out 
the little whalebone and went up the steps 
again, holding my poor trophy in my hand, 
I felt nervous and flustered, and everyone 
surrounded me, I was annoyed with this 
man, I did not want to return to the coach, 
as I thought I could hide my bad tem[>er 
better in one of the huge, gloomy-looking 
landaus which followed, but the charming 
Miss Gordon asked me so sweetly why I 
would not drive with them that I felt my 
anger melt away before the child's smiling 

"Would you like to drive?" her father 
asked me, anil I accepted with pleasure. 

Jarrett immediately proceeded to get down 

Digitized by G< 

The seats had been sold to the highest 
bidders, and considerable prices were 
obtained for them. We gave fifteen per- 
formances at Boston, at an average of nine- 
teen thousand francs for each, 

I was sorry to leave that city, as I had 
spent two charming weeks there, my mind 
all the time on the alert when holding con- 
versations with the Boston women. They 
are Puritans from the crown of the head to 
the sole of the foot, but they are indulgent, 
and there is no bitterness about their Puri- 
tanism, What struck me most atx>ut the 
women of Boston was the harmony of 
their gestures and the softness of their 
voices. Brought up among the severest and 
harshest of traditions, the Boston ian race 
seems to mfktp _be the. most refined and the 




most mysterious of all the American races. 
As the women are in the majority in Boston, 
many of the young girls remain unmarried. 
All their -vital forces which they cannot 
expend in love and in maternity they employ 
in fortifying and making supple the beauty of 
their body, by means of exercise and sports, 
without losing any of their grace. All the 
reserves of heart are expended in intellec- 
tuality. They adore music, the theatre, 
literature, painting, and poetry. They know 
everything and understand everything, are 
pure-minded and reserved, and neither laugh 
nor talk very loud. They are as far removed 
from the Latin race as the North Pole is 
from the South Pole, but they are interesting, 
delightful, and captivating. 

It was, therefore, with a rather heavy heart 
that I left Boston for New Haven, and, to my 
great surprise, on arriving at the hotel at New 
Haven I found Henry Smith there, the 
famous whale man. 

" Oh, heavens ! " I exclaimed, flinging 
myself into an arm-chair, " what does this 
man want now with me ? " 

I was not left in ignorance very long, for 
the most infernal noise of brass instruments, 
drums, trumpets, and, I should think, sauce- 
pans, drew me to the window. I saw an 
immense carriage surrounded by an escort of 
negroes dressed as minstrels. On this carriage 
was an abominable, monstrous, coloured 
advertisement representing me standing on 
the whale, tearing away its blade-bone, while 
it struggled to defend itself. Some sandwich- 
men followed with posters on which were 
written the following words : " Come and 
see the enormous cetacean which Sarah 
Bernhardt killed by tearing out its whalebone 
for her corsets. These are made by Mme. 
Lily No£, who lives," etc. Some of the other 
sandwich-men carried posters with these 
words : " The whale is just as flourishing as 
when it was alive. It has five hundred 
dollars' worth of salt in its stomach, and 
every day the ice upon which it was resting 
is renewed at a cost of one hundred dollars ! " 
My face turned more livid than that of a 
corpse and my teeth chattered with fury on 
seeing this. Henry Smith advanced towards 
me, and I struck him in my anger and then 
rushed away to my room, where I sobbed 
with vexation, disgust, and utter weariness. 

I wanted to start back to Europe at once, 
but Jarrett showed me my contract. I then 
wanted to take steps to have this odious 
exhibition stopped, and in order to calm me 
I was promised that this should be done, but 

in reality nothing was done at all. Two days 
later I was at Hartford and the same whale 
was there. It continued its tour as I con- 
tinued mine. They gave it more salt and 
renewed its ice, and it went on its way, so 
that I came across it everywhere. I took 
proceedings about it, but in every State I 
was obliged to begin all over again, as the 
law varied in the different States. And every 
time I arrived at a fresh hotel I found there 
an immense bouquet awaiting me, with the 
horrible card of the showman of the whale. 
I threw his flowers on the ground and 
trampled on them, and, much as I love 
flowers, I had a horror of these. 

Jarrett went to see the man and begged 
him not to send me any more bouquets, but 
it was all of no use, as it was the man's 
way of avenging the box on the ears I had 
given him. Then, too, he could not under- 
stand my anger. He was making any 
amount of money, and had even proposed 
that I should accept a percentage of the 
receipts. Ah ! I would willingly have killed 
that execrable Smith, for he was poisoning 
my life. I could see nothing else in all the 
different cities I visited, and I used to shut 
my eyes on the way from the hotel to the 
theatre. When I heard the minstrels I used 
to fly into a rage and turn green with anger. 
Fortunately, I was able to rest when once I 
reached Montreal, w^here I was not followed 
by this show. I should certainly have been 
ill if it had continued, as I saw nothing else, 
could think of nothing else, even in my very 
dreams. It haunted me ; it was an obsession 
and a perpetual nightmare. When I left 
Hartford Jarrett swore to me that Smith 
would not be at Montreal, as he had been 
taken suddenly ill. I strongly suspected that 
Jarrett had found a way of administering to 
him some violent kind of medicine which had 
stopped his journeying for the time. I felt 
sure of this, as the ferocious gentleman 
laughed so heartily en route ; but, anyhow, I 
was infinitely grateful to him for ridding me 
of the man for the present. 

When we arrived at Montreal the Pullman 
car stopped and the silence of the night was 
broken by a formidable cry of " Vive la 
France ! " which came from ten thousand 
voices, thrilling me with that thrill of 
patriotic love which brings the tears to one's 
eyes and makes one's heart beat more 
quickly. But emotion of another kind was 
in store for me. This, too, was very great, 
but painful, and the memory of it will never 

be effaced from my mind. 
(To be continued.) 


Some Fur fher Experiences of an Irish R.AL 

By E. <K Somerville and Martin Ross. 

WAS sitting on the steps of 
Shreelane House, smoking a 
cigarette after breakfast. By 
the calendar the month was 
February, by the map it was 
the South-West of Ireland, but 
by every token that hot sun and soft breeze 
could offer it was the Riviera in April. 

Maria, my wife's water spaniel, elderly 
now, but unimpaired in figure, and in 
character merely fortified in guile by the 
castigations of five winters, reclined on the 
warm limestone flags beside me. Minx, 



as was her 
nodding in 

the nursery fox-terrier, 
practice, upon Maria's 
slumber. All was peace. 

Peace, I say ; but even as I expanded in it 
and the sunshine there arose to me from the 
kitchen window in the area the voice of Mrs. 
Cadogan, the cook, uplifted in passionate 

11 Bridgie ! " it wailed, "where's me beautiful 
head and me lovely feet ?" 

The answer to this amazing inquiry 
travelled shrilly 
from the region 
of the scullery. 

" Bilin' in the 
pot, ma'am ! " 

1 realized that 
it was merely 
soup in its ele- 
mental stage 
that was under 
discussion, but 
Peace spread 
her wings at the 
cry ; it recalled 
the fact that 
Philip pa was 
having a dinner- 
party that same 
night, I n a 
small establish- 
ment, such as 
mine, a dinner- 
pa r t y is an 
affair of many 
aspects all of 

them SeriOUS* li nm.>; y«.li; mmmu-h want 

Digitized by W 

The aspect of the master of the house, 
however, is not serious ; it is merely con- 
temptible. Having got out the cham- 
pagne and reverentially decanted the port, 
there remains for him no further place in the 
proceedings, no moment in which his presence 
is desired If, at such a time, I wished to 
have sj>eech with my w T ife> she was not to be 
found ; if I abandoned the search and 
stationed myself in the hall, she w r ould pass 
me, on an average, twice in every three 
minutes, generally with flowers in her hands, 
always with an expression so rapt as to abash 
all questionings, I therefore sat uj>on the 
steps and read the paper, superfluous to all 
save the dogs, to whom I at least afforded a 
harbourage in the general stress. 

Suddenly, and without a word of warning, 
Minx and Maria were converted from a 
slumberous mound into twin comets t comets 
that trailed a continuous shriek of rage as 
they flew down the avenue. The cause of 
the affront presently revealed itself in the 
form of a tall woman, with a shawl over 

her head and a 
basket on her 
arm. She ad- 
vanced unfalter- 
i n g 1 y f Minx 
walking on her 
hind legs beside 
her, as if in a 
circus, atten- 
tively smelling 
the basket, while 
Maria hayed her 
at large in the 
She dropped me 
a curtsy fit for 
the Lord -Lieu- 

11 Does your 
honour want 
any fish this 
morning?" Her 
rippling grey 
hair gleamed 
like silver in the 

A?JVFTS,fTH1SM G?ffg7nalfrorn sunli S ht * her 



face was straight-browed and pale, her grey 
eyes met mine with respectful self-possession. 
She might have been Deborah the prophetess, 
or the mother of the Gracchi ; as a matter 
of fact, I recognised her as a certain Mrs. 
Honora Brickley, mother of my present 
kitchenmaid, a lady whom, not six months 
before, I had fined in a matter of trespass 
and assault. 

" They're lovely fish altogether ! " she 
pursued. " They're leppin' fresh ! " 

Here was the chance to make myself 
useful. I called down the area and asked 
Mrs. Cadogan if she wanted fish. (It may 
or may not be necessary to mention that 
my cook's name is locally pronounced 
" Caydogawn.") 

"What fish is it, sir?" replied Mrs. 
Cadogan, presenting at the kitchen window 
a face like a rising harvest moon. 

"'Tis pollack, ma'am," shouted Mrs. 
Brickley, from the foot of the steps. 

" 'Sha ! thim's no good to us," responded 
the harvest moon in bitter scorn. " Thim's 
not company fish ! " 

I was here aware of the presence of my 
wife in the doorway, with a menu-slaXe in one 
hand and one of my best silk pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs, that had obviously been used as a 
duster, in the other. 

" Filleted, with white sauce," she murmured 
to herself, a world of thought in her blue 
eyes, "or perhaps quenelles " 

Mrs. Brickley instantly extracted a long 
and shapely pollack from her basket, and with 
eulogies of its beauty, of Philippa's beauty, 
and of her own magnanimity in proffering her 
wares to us instead of to a craving market in 
Skebawn, laid it on the steps. 

At this point a series of yells from the 
nursery, of the usual blood-curdling descrip- 
tion, lifted Philippa from the scene of action 
as a wind whirls a feather. 

" Buy them ! " came back to me from the 

I kept to myself my long-formed opinion 
that eating pollack was like eating boiled 
cotton-wool with pins in it, and the bargain 
proceeded. The affair was almost concluded 
when Mrs. Brickley, in snatching a fish from 
the bottom of her basket to complete an 
irresistible half-dozen, let it slip from her 
fingers. It fell at mv feet, revealing a 
mangled and gory patch on its side. 

" Why, then, that's the best fish I have ! " 
declared Mrs. Brickley, in response to my 
protest ; " that's the very one her honour 
Mrs. Yeates would fancy ! She'd always 
like to see the blood running fresh ! " 


*.— 10. 

by Google 

This flight of sympathetic insight did not 
deter me from refusing the injured pollack, 
coupled with a regret that Mrs. Brickle/s 
cat should have been interrupted in its meal. 

Mrs. Brickley did not immediately reply. 
She peeped down the area, she glanced into 
the hall. 

" Cat, is it ?" she said, sinking her voice to 
a mysterious whisper ; " your honour knows 
well, Lord bless you, that it was no cat done 
that ! " 

Obedient to the wholly fallacious axiom 
that those who ask no questions will be told 
no lies, I remained silent 

"Only for the luck of the saints being on me 
they'd have left meself no betther than what 
they left the fish ! " continued Mrs. Brickley. 
" Your honour didn't hear what work was in 
it on Hare Island sthrand last night ? Thim 
Keohanes had the wooden leg pulled from 
undher me husband with the len'th o' 
fightin' ! Oh ! Thim's outlawed altogether, 
and the faymales is as manly as the men ! 
Sure the polis theirselves does be in dhread 
o' thim women ! The day-and-night-screech- 
ing porpoises ! " 

Six years of Resident Magistracy had 
bestowed upon me some superficial knowledge 
of whither all this tended. I arose from the 
steps with the stereotyped statement that if 
there was to be a case in court I could not 
listen to it beforehand. I closed the hall 
door, not, however, before Mrs. Brickley had 
assured me that I was the only gentleman, 
next to the blessed saints, in whom she had 
any confidence. 

The next incident in the affair occurred at 
about a quarter to eight that evening. I was 
fixing my tie when my wife's voice summoned 
me to her room in tones that presaged 
disaster. Philippa was standing erect, in a 
white and glittering garment ; her eyes shone, 
her cheeks glowed. It is not given to every- 
one to look their best when they are angry, 
but it undoubtedly is becoming to Philippa. 

" I ask you to look at my dress," she said, 
in a level voice. 

"It looks very nice," I said, cautiously, 
knowing there was a trap somewhere; "I 
know it, don't I?" 

" Know it ! " replied Philippa, witheringly ; 
" did you know that it had only one sleeve ? " 

She extended her arms ; from one depended 
vague and transparent films of whiteness, the 
other was bare to the shoulder. I rather 
preferred it of the two. 

"Well, I can't say I did," I said, help- 
lessly. "Is that a new fashion ? " 

There was a spectral knock at the door 

j i 1 1 .* 1 1 1 




'thuv took my sleeve to strain the soup!' repeated phiuppa." 

and Hannah, the housemaid, slid into the 
room, purple of face, abject of mien, 

11 It's what they're afther tellin' me, ma'am," 
she panted ; " 'twas took to sthrain the 
soup ! " 

"They took my sleeve to strain the soup!" 
repeated Philippa, in a crystal clarity of 

"She said she got it in the press in the 
passage, ma'am, and she thought you were 
afther throwin' it/' murmured Hannah, with 
a glance that implored my support 

" Whom are you speaking of? " demanded 
Philippa, looking quite six feet high. 

The situation, already sufficiently acute, 
was here intensified by the massive entry of 
Mrs. Cadogan, bearing in her hand a plate 
on which was a mound of soaked brownish 
rag, She was blowing hard — the glare of the 
kitchen range at highest power lived in her 

" There's your sleeve, ma'am ! " she said ; 
"and if I could fall down dead this minute 
it'd be no more than a relief to me ! And 
as for Bridgie Brick ley," continued Mrs, 
Cadogan, catching her wind with a gasp, 
** I've thravelled many genthry's kitchens, 
but I'm thankful I never seen ihe like of 
her ! Five weeks to-morrow she's in this 
house, and there isn't a day but I gave her a 
laceratin' ! Sure the hair's dhroppin* out o' 
me head and the skin rollin* off the soles o 1 
me feet with the heartscald I get with her 

by L^OOgle 

— the big, low, dirty buccaneer ! And I 
declare to you, ma'am, and to the Major, that 
I have a pain switching out through me hips 
this minute that'd bring down a horse ! " 

"Oh, Heaven ! " said Hannah, clapping her 
hand over her mouth. 

My eye met Philippa's ; some tremor of 
my inward agony declared itself and found 
its fellow on her quivering lips* In the same 
instant wheels rumbled on the avenue. 

" Here are the Knoxes ! J ' I exclaimed, 
escaping headlong from the room, with my 
dignity as master of the house still intact, 

Dinner, though somewhat delayed by these 
agitations, passed off reasonably well Its 
occasion was the return from the South 
African War of my landlord and neighbour, 
Mr. Florence McCarthy Knox, M.F.H., J, P., 
who had been serving his country in the 
Yeomanry for the past twelve months, The 
soup gave no hint of its cannibalistic origin, 
and was of a transparency that did infinite 
credit to the services of Philippa's slee% r e ; 
the pollack, chastely robed in white sauce, 
held no suggestion of a stormy past, nor, it 
need scarcely be said, did they foreshadow 
their influence on my future. As they made 
their circuit of the table I aimed a commun- 
ing glance at my wife, who, serene in pale 
pink and conversation with Mr. Knox, re- 
mained unresponsive. 

How the volcano that I knew to be raging 
below us in the kitchen could have brought 




forth anything more edible than molten 
paving-stones I was at a loss to imagine. 
Had Mrs. Cadogan sent up Bridget Brick ley's 
head as an entremet it would not, indeed, 
have surprised me. I could not know that 
as the gong sounded for dinner Miss Brick ley 
had retired to her bed in strong hysterics, 
announcing that she was paralyzed, while 
Mrs, Cadogan, exalted by passion to an ecstasy 
of achievement, coped single-handed with 
the emergency. 

At breakfast-time next morning Phtlippa 
and I were informed that the invalid had, at 
an early hour, removed herself arid her ward- 
robe from the house, requisitioning for the 

tall windows of the court-house were grey 
and streaming, and the reek of wet humanity 
ascended to the ceiling. As I took my seat 
on the bench I perceived with an inward 
groan that the services of the two most 
eloquent solicitors of Skebawn had been 
engaged. This meant that jvistice would 
not have run its course till Heaven knew 
what dim hour of the afternoon, and that 
that course would be devious and difficult. 

All the pews and galleries — any Irish court- 
house might, with the addition of a har- 
monium ? pass presentably as a dissenting 
chapel— were full, and a line of flat-capped 
policemen stood like churchwardens near the 


purpose my donkey^cart and the attendance 
of my groom, Peter Cadogan ; a proceeding 
on which the comments of Peter's aunt, Mrs, 
Cadogan, left nothing to be desired. 

The affair on the strand at Hare Island 
ripened, with infinite complexity of sum- 
monses and cross-summonses, into an im- 
posing Petty Sessions case. Two separate 
deputations presented themselves at Shree- 
lane, equipped with black eyes and other 
conventional injuries^ one of them armed 
with a creelful of live lobsters to underline 
the argument* To decline the bribe was of 
no avail ; the deputation decanted them 
upon the floor of the hall and retired, and 
the lobsters spread themselves at large over 
the house, and to this hour remain the night- 
mare of the nursery. 

The next Petty Sessions day was wet ; the 

by Google 

door, Under the galleries, behind what 
might have answered to choir-stalls, the 
witnesses and their friends hid in darkness, 
which could, however, but partially conceal 
two resplendent young ladies, barmaids, who 
were to appear in a subsequent Sunday 
drinking case. I was a little late, and when 
I arrived Flurry Knox, supported by a couple 
of other magistrates, was in the chair, imper- 
turbable of countenance as was his wont, his 
fair and delusive youth fulness of aspect un- 
impaired by his varied experiences during the 
war, his roving, subtle eye untamed by four 
years of matrimony. 

A woman was being examined, a square 
and ugly country-woman, with wispy fair hair, 
a slow, dignified manner, and a slight and 
impressive stammer. I recognised her as one 
of the body-guard of the lobsters, Mr. 
Original from 

7 6 


Murphy, solicitor for the Brickleys, widely 
known and respected as " Roaring Jack," was 
in possession of that much-enduring organ, 
the ear of the Court. 

" Now, Kate Keohane ! " he thundered, 
" tell me what time it was when all this was 
going on?" 

"About duskish, sir. Con Brickley was 
slashing the f-fish at me mother the same 
time. He never said a word but to take the 
stick and fire me dead with it on the sthrand. 
He gave me plenty of blood to dhrink, too," 
said the witness, with acid decorum. She 
paused to permit this agreeable fact to sink in, 
and added, " His wife wanted to f-fashten on 
me the same time, an* she havin' the steer o' 
the boat to sthrike me." 

These were not precisely the facts that 
Mr. Murphy, as solicitor for the defence, 
wished to elicit. 

" Would you kindly explain what you mean 
by the steer of the boat ? " he demanded, 
sparring for wind in as intimidating a manner 
as possible. 

The witness stared at him. 

" Sure 'tis the stick, like, that they pulls 
here and there to go in their choice place." 

" We may presume that the lady is refer- 
ring to the tiller," said Mr. Murphy, with a 
facetious eye at the Bench. " Maybe now, 
ma'am, you can explain to us what sort of a 
boat is she ? " 

" She's that owld that if it wasn't for the 
weeds that's holding her together she'd bursht 
up in the deep." 

" And who owns this valuable property ? " 
pursued Mr. Murphy. 

" She's between Con Brickley and me 
brother, an' the saine is between four, an' 
whatever crew does be in it should get their 
share, and the boat has a man's share." 

I made no attempt to comprehend this, 
relying with well-founded confidence on Flurry 
Knox's grasp of such enigmas. 

"Was Con Brickley fishing the same day ? " 

"He was not, sir. He was at Lisheen 
Fair; for as clever as he is he couldn't kill 
two birds under one slat ! " 

Kate Keohane's voice moved unhurried 
from sentence to sentence, and her slow, pale 
eye turned for an instant to the lair of the 
witnesses under the gallery. 

" And you're asking the Bench to believe 
that this decent man left his business in 
Lisheen in order to slash fish at your 
mother ? " said Mr. Murphy, truculently. 

" B'lieve me, sorra much business he laves 
afther him wherever he'll go ! " returned the 
witness ; " himself and his wife had business 


enough on the sthrand when the fish was 
dividing, and it's then thimselves put every 
name on me ! " 

"Ah, what harm are names?" said Mr. 
Murphy, dallying elegantly with a tress of 
his auburn beard. " Come now, ma'am ! will 
you swear you got any ill-usage from Con 
Brickley or his wife ? " He leaned over the 
front of his pew and waited for the answer, 
with his massive red head on one side. 

" I was givin' blood like a c-cow that ye'd 
stab with a knife ! " said Kate Keohane, with 
unshaken dignity. " If it was yourself that 
was in it ye'd feel the smart as well as me. 
My hand and word on it, ye would ! The 
marks is on me head still, like the prints of 
dog-bites ! " 

She lifted a lock of hair from her forehead 
and exhibited a sufficiently repellent injury. 
Flurry Knox leaned forward. 

" Are you sure you haven't that since the 
time there was that business between yourself 
and the postmistress at Munig? I'm told 
you had the name of the office on your fore- 
head where she struck you with the office- 
stamp ! Try, now; sergeant. Can you read 
1 Munig ' on her forehead ? " 

The Court, not excepting its line of church- 
wardens, dissolved in laughter ; Kate Keohane 
preserved an offended silence. 

" I suppose you want us to believe," 
resumed Mr. Murphy, sarcastically, " that a 
fine, hearty woman like you wasn't defending 
yourself?" Then, with a turkey-cock burst 
of fury, " On your oath, now ! What did 
you strike Honora Brickley with? Answer 
me that, now ! What had you in your 
hand ? " 

" I had nothing only the little rod I had 
afther the ass," answered Miss Keohane, with 
childlike candour ; " I done nothing to them ; 
but as for Con Brickley, he put his back to 
the cliff and he took the flannel wrop that 
he had on him and he threwn it on the 
sthrand, and he said he should have blood, 
murdher, or f-fish ! " 

She folded her shawl across her breast, 
a picture of virtue assailed, yet unassailable. 

" You may go down now," said " Roaring 
Jack," rather hastily ; " I want to have a few 
words with your brother." 

Miss Keohane retired without having 
moulted a feather of her dignity, and her 
brother Jer came heavily up the steps and 
on to the platform, his hot, wary blue eye 
gathering in the Bench and the attorneys 
in one bold, comprehensive glance. He 
was a tall, dark man of about five-and-forty, 
clean-shaved save for two clerical inches of 
Original from 




black whisker, and in feature of the type 
of a London clergyman who would probably 
preach on Browning. 

" Well, sir I " began Mr. Murphy, stimula- 
tingly, " and are you the biggest blackguard 
from here to America ? " 

" I am not," said Jer Keohane, tranquilly. 

u We had you here before us not so long 
ago ; about kicking a goat, wasn't it ? You 
got a little touch of a pound, I think?" 

This delicate allusion to a fine that the 
Bench had thought fit to impose did not 
distress the witness. 

M I did, sir." 

"And how's our friend the goat?" went 
on Mr. Murphy, with the furious facetious- 
ness reserved for hustling tough witnesses. 

41 Well, I suppose she's something west of 
the Skelligs by now," replied Jer Keohane, 
with great composure. 

An appreciative grin ran round the court, 
the fact that the goat had died of the kick 
and been "given the cliff" being regarded as 
an excellent jest 

Mr. Murphy consulted his notes, 

" Well, now, about this fight/ 1 he said. 

"Did you have any talk with his wife 
about the fish ? " 

"I couldn't tell the words that she said to 
me," replied the witness, with a reverential 
glance at the Bench, "and she over-right 
three crowds o' men that was on the 

Mr. Murphy put his hands in his pockets 
and surveyed the witness. 

" You're a very refined gentleman, upon 
my word ! Were you ever in England ? " 

" 1 was, part of three years." 

" Oh, that accounts for it, I suppose," said 
Mr, Murphy, accepting this lucid statement 
without a stagger, and passing lightly on. 
* ( You're a widower, I understand, with no 
objection to consoling yourself?" 

No answer 

"Now, sir ! Can you deny that you made 
proposals of marriage to Con Brickley's 
daughter last Shraft ? " 

The plot thickened. Con Brickley's 
daughter was my late kitchenmaid. 

Jer Keohane smiled tolerantly. 

"Ah ! that was a thing o' nothing! " 

"Nothing 1" said Mr, Murphy, with the 


pleasantly. u Did you Bee your sister catch 
Mrs. Brickley and pull her hair down to the 
ground and drag the shawl off of her? " 

" Well," said the witness, airily, "they had 
a little bit of a scratch on account o' the fish. 
Con Brickley had the shteer o' the boat in 
his hand, and says he, 'Is there any man 
here that'll take the shteer from me ? f The 
man was dhrunk, of course," added Jer, 

by Google 

roar of a tornado ; " do you call an impudent 
proposal of marriage to a respectable man's 
daughter nothing ■ That's Knglish manners, 
I suppose 1 " 

" I was gohV home one Sunday," said Jer 
Keohane, conversationally, to the Bench t 
"and I met the gerr'l and her mother. I 
spoke to the gerrl in a friendly way, and 
asked her why wasn't she gettin* marrid, and 
she commenced to peg stones at me and 


7 8 


dhrew several blows of an umbrella on me. I 
had only three bottles o' porther taken. 
There, now, was the whole of it/' 

Mrs. Brick ley, from under the gallery, 
groaned heavily and ironically. 

I found it difficult to connect these 
coquetries with my impressions of my late 
kitchenmaid, a furtive and tousled being who, 
in conjunction with a pail and scrubbing- 
brush, had been wont to melt round corners 
and into doorways at my approach. 

"Are we trying a breach of promise case ? " 
interpolated Flurry. "If so, we ought to 
have the plaintiff in." 

" My purpose, sir," said Mr, Murphy, in a 
manner discouraging to levity, "is to show 
that my clients have received annoyance and 
contempt from this 


his sister 
no parents 


such as 

would submit to." 

A hand came 
forth from under 
the gallery and 
plucked at Mr* 
Murphy's coat. A 
red monkey - face 
appeared out of 
the darkness, and 
there was a hoarse 
whisper whose pur- 
port I could not 
gather. Con Brick- 
ley t the defendant, 
was giving some 
instructions to his 

It was perhaps 
as a result of these 
that Jer Keohane's 
evidence closed 
here. There was a 
brief interval, en- 
livened by coughs, 
grinding of heavy 
boots on the floor, 
and some mumbling and groaning under the 

" There's great duck -shooting out oh a 
hike on this island,"' commented Hurry to 
me r in a whisper. " My great-uncle McCarthy 
went there one time with an old duck-gun he 
had, that he fired with a fuse. He was three 
hours stalking the ducks before he got the 
gun laid. He lit the fuse then, and it set to 
work sputtering and hissing like a goods- 
engine, till there wasn't a duck within ten 
miles. The gun went off then," 

This useful sidelight on the matter in hand 


by Google 

was interrupted by the cumbrous ascent of 
the one-legged Con Brickley to the witness- 
table. He sat down heavily, with his slouch 
hat on his sound knee, and his wooden stump 
stuck out before him, His large monkey- 
face was immovably serious ; his eye was 
small, light grey, and very quick. 

McCaffery, the opposition attorney, a thin, 
restless youth, with ears like the handles of 
an urn, took him in hand. To the pelting 
cross - examination that beset him Con 
Brickley replied with sombre deliberation, 
and with a manner of uninterested honesty, 
emphasizing what he said with slight, very 
effective gestures of his big, supple hands. 
His voice was deep and pleasant ; it betrayed 
no hint of so trivial a thing as satisfaction 
when, in the teeth of Mr. 
McCaffery's leading ques- 
tions, he established the 
fact that the "little rod" 
with which Miss Kate 
Keohane had beaten his 
wife was the handle of a 

"I was counting the 

fish the same time," went 

on Con Brickley, in his 

rolling basso profundis- 

simo, "and she said, 'Let 

the divil clear me out of 

the sthrand, for 

there's no one else 

will put me out ! * 

says she." 

" It was then she 
got the blow, I 
suppose?" said 
McCaffery, venom- 
ously ; " you had a 
stick yourself, I 
dare say ? " 

"Yes; I had a 
stick, I must have 
a stick " — deep and 
mellow pathos was 
hinted at in the voice — " I am sorry to say. 
What could / do to her ? A man with a 
wooden leg on a sthrand could do nothing ! " 
Something like a laugh ran round the back 
of the court. Mr. McCaffery's ears turned 
scarlet and became quite decorative. On or 
off a strand Con Brickley was not a person 
to be scored off easily. 

His clumsy t yet impressive, descent from 
the witness-stand followed almost immedi- 
ately, and was not the least telling feature of 
his evidence. Mr. Murphy surveyed his exit 
with the admiration of one artist for another, 
Original from 



and, rising, asked the Bench's permission to 
call Mrs. Brickley, 

Mrs. Brick ley, as she mounted to the plat- 
form, in the dark and nun-like severity of her 
long cloak — the stately blue cloth cloak that 
is the privilege 
of the Mun- 
ster peasant- 
woman — was 
an example 
of the rarely- 
blended quali- 
ties of pictur- 
esqueness and 
As she took 
her seat in the 
chair she flung 
the deep hood 
back on to her 
shoulders and 
met the gaze 
of the Court 
with her grey 
head erect ; 
she was a wit- 
ness to be 
proud of, 

w Now, Mrs. 
Brickley," said 
" R o a r i n g 
Jack," ur- 
banely, i( will 

you describe this interview between 
daughter and Keohane ? ?l 

"It was the last Sunday in Shrove, your 
worship, Mr. Flurry Knox, and gentlemen," 
began Mrs. Brick ley, nimbly; u meself and 
me little gerr-1 was com in' home from Mass, 
and Jer Keohane come up to us and got on 
in a most un manner able way, He asked 
me daughther would she marry him. Me 
daughther told him she would not, quite 
friendly-like. I'll tell ye no lie, gentlemen — - 
she was teasing him with the umbrella the 
same time, an f he raised his stick and 
dhrew a sthroke on her in the back, an' 
the little gerr'l took up a small pebble of 
a stone and fired it at him. She put the 
umbrella up to his mouth, but she called 
him no names. But as for him, the names 
he put on her was to call her 'a nasty, long 
slopeen of a proud thing, and a slopeen of a 
proud tinker ! ' " 

11 Very lover-like expressions ! " commented 
Mr Murphy, doubtless stimulated by lady- 
like titters from the barmaids. " And had 
this romantic gentleman made any previous 
proposals for your daughter ? " 



by Google 

" Himself had two friends over from across 
the water one night to make the match — a 
Sathurday it was —and they should land the 
lee side o' th J island, for the wind was a 
fright," replied Mrs. Brickley, launching her 

tale with the 
power of easy 
narration that 
is bestowed 
with such 
amazing liber- 
ality on her 
class- "The 
three o J them 
had d h rink 
taken, an' I 
went to slap 
out the door 
agin them. 
Me husband 
said then we 
should let 
them in, if it 
was a Turk 
itself, with the 
rain that was 
in it. They 
were talking 
in it then till 
near the dawn- 
ing, and in the 
kit her end all 
that was be- 
tween them was the boat's share," 

"What do you mean by, *the boat's 
share ' ? n said I. 

" Tis the same as a man's share, me 
worshipful gentleman," returned Mrs- Brick- 
ley, splendidly. *'It goes with the boat 
always, afther the crew and the saine has 
their share got" 

I possibly looked as enlightened as I felt 
by this exposition, 

" You mean that Jer wouldn't have her 
unless he got the boat's share with her ? B 
suggested Flurry. 

" He said it over-right all that was in the 
house, and he reddening his pipe at the fire," 
replied Mrs. Brickley, in full-sailed response 
to the helm, " ' D'ye think,' says I to him, 
1 that me daughther would leave a lovely 
situation, with a kind and tendher mast her, 
for a mean, hungry blagyard like yerself/ 
says I, 'that's livin' always in this backwards 
place ? ' says L" 

This touching expression of preference for 

myself as opposed to Mr. Keohane was 

received with expressionless respect by the 

Court. Flurry, with an impassive counte- 

Original from 




nance, kicked me heavily under cover of the 
desk, I said that we had better get on to 
the assault on the strand. Nothing could 
have been more to Mrs, Brickley's taste. We 
were minutely instructed as to how Katie 
Keohane drew the shawleen forward on Mrs. 
Brickley's head to stifle her ; how Norrie 
Keohane was fast in her hair ; of how Mrs. 
Brick ley had then given a stroke upwards 
between herself and her face — whatever that 
might mean — and 
loosed Norrie from 
her hair ; of how 
she then had sat 
down and com- 
menced to cry from 
the use they had 
for her. 

"'Twas all I 
done," she con- 
cluded, looking like 
a sacred picture ; 
" I gave a sthroke 
of a pollack on 
them. 3J Then, as 
an afterthought, 
" An' if I did, 'twas 
myself was at the 
loss of the same 
pollack ! " 

I fixed my eyes 
immovably on my 
desk, I knew that 
the slightest symp- 
tom of intelligence 
on my part would 
instantly draw forth the episode of the fish- 
buying on the morning of the dinner-party, 
with the rape of Philippa's sleeve, and the 
unjust aspersions on Miss Brick ley following 
in due sequence, ending with the paralytic 
seizure and dignified departure of the latter 
to her parents' residence in Hare Island- 
The critical moment was averted by a ques- 
tion from Mr, Murphy. 

41 As for language," replied Mrs. Brickley, 
with clear eyes a little uplifted in the direction 
of the ceiling, "there was no name from 
heaven to hell but she had it on me, and 

wishin' the divil might bum the two heels off 
me, and the like o' me wasn't in sivin 
parishes ! And that was the clane part of 
the discoorse, yer worships ! " 

Mrs. Brickley here drew her cloak more 
closely about her, as though to enshroud her- 
self in her own refinement, and presented to 
the Bench a silence as elaborate as a drop 
scene. It implied, amongst several other 
things, a generous confidence in the im- 
aginative powers of 
her audience. 

Whether or no 
this was misplaced, 
Mrs, Brickley was 
not invited further 
to enlighten the 
Court. After her 
departure the case 
droned on in in- 
exhaustible ran- 
cour, and trackless 
complications as to 
the shares of the 
fish. Its ethics 
and its arithmetic 
would have defied 
the allied intellects 
of Solomon and 
Bishop Colenso. 
It was somewhere 
in that dead hour 
of the afternoon, 
when it is too late 
for lunch and too 
early for tea T that 
the Bench, wan with hunger, wound up the 
affair by impartially binding both parties in 
sheaves " to the peace." 

As a sub-issue I arranged with Mr. Knox 
to shoot duck on the one-legged man's land 
on Hare Island as soon as should be con- 
venient, and lightly dismissed from my mind 
my dealings, official and otherwise, with the 
house of Brickley* 

But even as there are people who never 
give away eld clothes, so are there people, of 
whom is Flurry Knox, who never dismiss 
anything from their minds. 

ON THEM. 1 ' h 

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Original from 

Court Missionaries. 

By Ellis Deane. 

RE, 'Enery, wot's a court 
missionary ? " 

The small man in the bar- 
parlour of the Bunch of 
Grapes looked up from his 
newspaper at the florid in- 
dividual in spectacles, who was generally 
held to know everything in all the encyclo- 
paedias ever written, and a good deal that 
wasn't in those stupendous compilations. 

" A court missionary ? " The florid man 
repeated it twice, obviously in order to gain 
time. "Why, a court missionary, Jarge, in 
course, is a functionary — a functionary, mind 
you — at Court, what's paid to go on missions, 
you know — missions to Tibet, Patagonia, 
China, anywhere, etcetery." 

Whereupon a shabbily-dressed Cockney 
house-painter, whom nobody had hitherto 
paid any attention to, put in his oar. 

"If that's all you know about court 
missionaries you'd better shut up," he said, 
with scornful emphasis. '* It's plain, mate, 
you've never been before a London beak ; 
it's certain you've never been' in trouble — -out 
o' work three months, with a sick wife, dn' 
had up by the police for tryin' to beg money 
for medicine or steal a coffin to bury your 
kid, else you'd know what a court missionary 
is. An' in case you want to know, an' care 
particular to hear, /can tell you." 

And so, in my hearing, the journeyman 
house -painter went on to explain that the 
court missionary one meets so frequently in 
the newspapers had nothing to do with Tibet 
or Patagonia. " He's a regular Londoner, 
he is, an', though they call him a missionary, 
he ain't what you'd call a missionary at all, 
for he ain't a parson or a Salvationist, an' he 
ain't savin' souls. Just a good feller, I 
reckon, who's been in trouble himself, an' 
hung about police-courts on the off-chance 
of doin' some deservin' person a good turn." 
It may be remarked that the ignorance is 
widespread concerning court missionaries. 
Hundreds — perhaps thousands — of readers 
of The Strand Magazine, lighting on 
some interesting paragraph in their morn- 
ing journal, vaguely wonder what a court 
missionary is. 

"If you want to see life," wrote the late 
George Gissing, " you should become a court 

Vol. xxlx. — 11. 

Digitized by V^OOglC 

missionary. In that capacity you can inspect 
life to its very dregs. Not all dregs, for the 
very warmest, truest, noblest kind of human 
nature often passes through a London police- 
court." This, indeed, is not surprising, con- 
sidering that two hundred thousand persons 
pass through the London police-courts every 
year. There is a perpetual drama of low 
life and manners going on at Bow Street, 
Marlborough Street, Marylebone, North 
London, Southwark, Whitechapel, and else- 
where. A woman, for instance, stands in the 
dock charged with crime. A hush falls upon 
the crowded court as the indictment of the 
offence is uttered. Hundreds of pairs of eyes 
' are fastened upon the trembling prisoner as she 
stands there by the side of the stalwart con- 
stable. She is dishevelled, unkempt. She 
wears a hunted expression ; she appears to the 
majority a very type of the low-born criminal. 
Yet this woman is innocent of tl e crime with 
which she is charged. They do not know 
that what seems to be guilt is in reality 
despair ; . her seeming brutal indifference, 
a paralysis of the thinking faculties. 
Appearances are against the prisoner ; the 
magistrate eyes her with a stony stare ; the 
evidence of guilt is strong ; the woman will 
certainly be condemned. 

At this critical moment a sturdy grey figure 
rises at the side of the court and moves 
towards the magistrate, and a voice says 
quietly, but with great distinctness, " I am 
sure this woman is innocent. I had a talk 
with her before she came into court, and I 
am convinced there is some mistake. I beg 
your worship will remand the prisoner until 
I can make further inquiries." 
< A stranger would open his eyes in wonder. 
What right had this grey-haired, jovial-faced 
man to interfere ? Was he an official of the 
court ? No, he was no official. Surely, then, 
the magistrate would disregard this pre- 
sumptuous intervention. But, no ; the magi- 
strate's face bears a look of sudden relief, 
and he promptly accedes to the wish. The 
prisoner, her mouth agape, her eyes filled 
with tears, is led away to the waiting-room. 
She had found a friend. She had come 
across someone who would listen to her 
story with sympathy — nay, more, who would 
believe in her. In a few hours she would 
Original from 





be brought up again and ttiseh urged- A 
man ? a good Liiiin, a man unlike tin; otln r>, 
understanding her habits and ways, hat I 
stood between her and that terrible monster 
the law, That man was the court missionary 

The whole credit of originating the- Police- 
Court Mission is due to a working- man many 
years ago, He went to the chairman of the 
Church of Lngland Temperance Society and 
asked him if he knew how rough was the lot of 
the working-man or friendless wayfarer whom 
chance threw into a police-court cell. " He 
has no friends ; everybody, magistrate and 
police, is against him ; he is presumed to 
be a criminal. There is nobody to s[>eak for 
him — nobody to consider what his character 
is, whether it is worth while to save him." 
And so, as a result of this suggestion, the 
authorities were conferred with and two 
missionaries were appointed to attend the 
police-courts of London. 

In i88y it was decided to extend the work, 
until now there are thirteen missionaries 
and eight mission women, win* attend every 
court, metropolitan and petty sessional, in 
the great city, 

Let us see what the work of a court 

by Oc 


missionary is, Let us spend a day with one 
of them. In a narrow street in the North of 
London, at half-past eight in the morning, the 
writer knocked at a certain door. It was 
opened by a tall, lank man, whose face bore 
the marks of years of dissipation. As I 
entered the room the voice of the missionary 
greeted me cheerily, "Come in; we four 
are just finishing breakfast. We will be off 

Besides the tall, lank man who had opened 
the door, there were a short, i>ale. melancholy 
man of middle-age and a bright-faced young 
fellow, win j, in spite of his youth, was quite 
bald. We were introduced. ll My little 
family/' said the missionary. " My ijuarters 
heie are small, as you see ; but we manage 

Afterwards, in private, he explained s — 
"Those three are the best fellows in the 
world. But they are children ; they cant 
look out for themselves, and if I didn't take 
them in and give them shelter for awhile — 
until they get their bearings, you know - 
Heaven knows what would become of them, 
The tall man is an Oxford graduate— a tutor 
—who lost his wife, took to drink, and has 

Original from 



made three attempts on his life. I pleaded 
fur him with the magistrate, patched him and 
brought him home, and now he won't leave 
me. He's seventy pounds a year of his own, 
and as he pays me for his board and keep I 
can't well turn him out. And I don't want 
to. He's terribly melancholy Lit time*, but a 
good fellow — a good fellow." 

The two other men were temporary sharers 
of the missionary's humble home — one a 
musician, the other an accountant, both 
"fearfully down on their luck. 1 ' "They had 
no friends/* remarked the missionary as we 
rode along in the omnibus. fci London is a 
dreadful place, I couldn't desert them, 
could I ? If there were only better provision 
made for these fellows — temporarily, I mean. 
But there isn't — and, after all, it takes so little 
sometimes to save them** 

We arrived at the police-court some time 

to see him, and there came as many messages 
from the cells and waiting-room, he passed 
on straight to his desk in the inspector's 
room and began to examine his morning's 
corresj >o ndenee. 

As it will convey some idea of the court 
missionary's labours and his relations with 
the world outside, we may give two letters 
actually received : — 

Dear Srk,— I am a poor woman with three small 
children. This morning my hu si Kind was convicted 
of burglary and sentenced to three years" penal servi- 
tude J used in give music ltssuns l>efore our trouble, 
but now they are going to take the piano away, 
unless I can pay the guinea lor iwu months 1 hire. 
Can you, help me ? I have no friends, and my pupils 
would leave me if they knew. For God s sake teH 
n ie what shall I do. — Yours respectfully, etc. 

The other ran : — 

I take my pen in hand to lei you Know that I 
am well and happy, and leading a si rate, sober life 
on a farm here. I shall never forget how you stood 


before the magistrate took his seat on the 
bench. The purlieus* the passages, the 
entrances were hung about with people —a 
strange assortment —mothers with babes at 
the breast, old men, little ehildren s several 
flashily-dressed persons of both sexes. A 
pathway was respectfully made for the 
missionary, and he was greeted from several 
quarters. Although half-a-dozen were waiting 

by Google 

hy me f and when I came out of prissen you were the 
hest friend I had in tins world, God bless you, sir, 
I shall licpe st rate for your sake, 

The letters read, we pass together to the 
waiting-rooms for male and female prisoners, 
and then to the eells, where one gains a 
loftier idea of human nature in hearing the 
greetings and seeing the handgrips between 
missionary and prisoners. 
Original from 


8 4 


" What, Weston, you here again ? I Lhought 
you promised me — - — ■" 

" Oh, sir, I've been in such trouble at 
'ome. I didn't mean to — really I didn't. It 
come upon me so sudden-like. 

i( Well, well, we'll see. But I fear the 
magistrate will not hear me this time/' 

"Oh, yes, he will, sir. Yes, he will. You 
just speak to 'im this 
once, and 111 cut me 
right 'and off — sVelp 
me, I will, right to 
the bone- -— " 

11 There, there ; 
don't say another 
word. 1 11 co me bae k 
to you in a moment, 
and you can tell me 
all about it." 

Here, too, we en- 
counter the female 
missionary, amongst 
the sinning and down- 
trodden of her sex, 
deep in her labours 

of sympathy and charity. She is too busy for 
more than a smile and a passing word. " I 
never have a moment's idleness. There is 
so much to be done. There are the regular 
ones — well acquainted, you know, with sin 
and poverty and misery --and there are the 
waifs and strays. Here is my visiting-card ; 
please take it and pass it along/' This is our 
introduction ; but we are to see this court 
missionary again, whis- 
pering words of coun- 
sel and cheer to an old 
offender as she leans 
out of the dread " Black 
Maria," and once more 
surrounded by other 
objects of her pro 
f ess tonal solicitude. 

But to return to our 
age [i da. 

When, after a r<>und 
of interviews, the court 
opens, there is much 
for the missionary to 
do.. He must look 
out for all the cases in 
which he is interested, 
or in which he can 
lend a helping hand* 
He has received confi- 
dences which neither 
the magistrate nor the 
police eould ever es [>ect 
to get, As each prisoner 


IT poii ipant a friend, 


Police Court, 

Orejt Marlborough Stroet, 


MUj &. JA0O5, 

17 ColshMl Building*, 

Eburv Street, 

Hmlicop 5 + W, 


T-H Iiji-"<« 


Stands in the dock the magistrate will con- 
stantly ask what can be done for this or that 
case. At the missionary's suggestion many 
cases are put back till the afternoon, or 
remanded for a longer period; and magistrate 
and missionary often consult together on 
the various cases. Later in the day the 
missionary is present during the time of 

applications for sum- 
monses or advice, 
before starting out 
on a round of house- 
to-house visits. 

"This/' said Mr, 
Nelson, opening an 
adjacent door, "is 
my public wardrobe, 
our clothing and out- 
fitting stores* You 
see," he continued, 
u a man's ap[>earance 
so often counts 
against him. He 
has been out of 
work Tor a long 
time, and his apparel is frayed and patched 
to such an extent that he often becomes 
a butt for ridicule. Such a man, how- 
ever honest and willing, is seriously handi- 
capped in his e (forts to obtain a liveli- 
hood, and finally loses his self-resijeet and 
grows to be as worthless as he looks. It is 
for this reason that we welcome gifts of 
clothing, which often serve to rehabilitate 
some ]KKjr fellow in 
both senses of the 

An odd story is told 
in connection with the 
slop chest. Years ago 
a gentleman well 
known in City circles 
had the misfortune to 
s[>end an evening in 
too convivial a lash ion, 
with the result that he 
found himself locked 
up in the police-station 
tor the night. He was 
particularly fond <*\ 
dress, and his clothes 
were all of an aggres- 
stvely resplendent 
make and material 
When, in the morning, 
the folly of his be- 
haviour was borne in 
upon htm as he lay 
black i**kiA. ! * ..stretched in his cell, 



8 5 

and the gorgeousness of his raiment smote 

his eye t he asked hurriedly if lie could not 

have a moment's conversation with the court 


if I can't go into court with these things," 

he said. " I can't face the ridicule of the 

crowd. Can't you give me something else 

to wear ? Perhaps there is some prisoner 

who would exchange clothes with me ? '' 
Naturally, the missionary felt that this 

proposition was a trifle 

out of his line; neverthe- 
less* as the stockbroker was 

insistent and was prepared 

not merely to exchange on 

equal terms, but 

even add a seve- 
re i g 11 into the 

bargain, a deal 

with the mission 

wardrobe was 

effected. The 

beautiful grey 

frock - coat, I he 

plaid trousers, the 

orange -check 

waistcoat, and the 

scarlet cravat were 

folded up and 

placed on the 

shelves, while their 

late owner donned 

a dark tweed suit 

somewhat the 

worse for wear. 
Several years 

passed ; the stock- 
broker's garments 
remained undis- 
turbed on their 
shelf. They had 
been several times 
offered to ship- 
wrecked Strug - for 

missionary, but invariably refused, one un- 
fortunate, who had been rescued from a fire, 
remarking that they were "a bit too gaudy'' 
for his use, " Better go naked and urn hie, 
governor, than wear such a song-an'-daiice 
uniform,* 1 he said. 

On I he other hand, the .stockbroker himself 
did not rest undisturbed. He lost heavily, 
took regularly to drink and evil ways, and 
ended by fjecoming a common nuisance. 
One; night this man got into a brawl with a 
costermonger in Newman Street, attacked the 
intervening policeman, and in the ensuing 
fray had his clothes almost torn from his 
body. He was taken to the same police 

Digitized by O 

lifeurs by the court 

station, and in the morning was visited by 
the same court missionary. 

lt Look here, TT said the man. " Ten years 
ago you did me a good turn " ; and he related 
the incident, adding, st I little thought I 
should ever come to this." The missionary 
held out his hand. ki Don't despair," he said ; 
11 II! do you another good turn* I've got 
your old clothes here yet, Tut them on, 
forget all that has happened in the interval, 

promise me you'll 
turn over a new 
leaf, and I'll get 
you a situation." 

The wretched 
man got into his 
gentleman's garb, 
on the strength of 
which and the mis- 
sionary's story the 
magistrate dis- 
charged him. The 
promise was both 
given and kept r and 
the man is now a 
se If - respecting 
member of society. 
After leaving the 
precincts of the 
police ■ court we 
turn to other courts 
- these and alleys; 
mean streets — 
where the mission-' 
ary is paying his 
calls and inquiring 
about the fortunes 
of his "friends/ 1 
We meet many re- 
formed artisans and 
navvies in their 
homes, and when 
it is all over a very 
tiring, strenuous day has been passed. 

There is plenty of romance -and occasion 
ally comedy — in the court missionary's life. 
Not a day passes without incidents — often of 
a striking character* A few years ago an 
elderly man was expelled from a common 
lodging-house and arrested for vagrancy. He 
was said to have seen better days. In court 
he created a sensation by exclaiming: — 

11 What do you charge me with? Not 
working? I have worked like a slave for 
forty years. I accumulated a vast fortune 
by the sweat of my brow. I had a mansion 
in San Francisco that cost me fifty thousand 
pounds, I had another in Melbourne. I 

owned a yacht ami spent mv winters at 
Original from 





Roused out of sleep by a thunder-clap like 
that, it was not surprising if I were disposed 
to wonder where I was and what had 

"Who is it?" I inquired "And what's 
the matter ? " 

u It's Eveleen ! And as for what's the 
matter, they're not my presents, so it's not 
of the slightest consequence to me what 
becomes of them, though I should not be in 
the least surprised if they're all of them gone 
by now. Do wake up ! * T 

Before I really knew it I was not only wide 
awake, but I was stealing along the pitch 
dark passage in my night-gown, with Eve- 
leen's hand in mine. Sure enough, as we 
leaned over the baluster, we could see, 
through the open door, that there was a light 
in the drawing-room, where all my wedding- 
presents were laid out 
for inspection. 

*' What are you doing 
in there?' 1 I cried. 
11 Who are you?" 

Looking back, they 
seem rather foolish 
questions to have asked* 
It was, perhaps, because 
she felt this strongly 
that* without the slight- 
est warning, Eveleen 
burst into the most 
appalling shrieks and 

"Help 1 help ! — 
murder ! — thieves ! — 
burglars !— help-p ! " 

I had never su selec- 
ted her of having such 
powerful kings. It was 
partly owing to the 
surprise occasioned by 
the discovery, and 
partly to the thrill which 
the noise she made sent 
right through me, that 
I was induced to do 
the most daring — and 
also the rashes! — thing 
I ever did do. With- 
out giving Eveleen the 
least hint of my inten- 
tion, I flew down the 
stairs and dashed into the drawing-room in 
my night-gown, just as I was. What would 
have happened if the burglar had stayed 
and attacked me is too terrible for thought. 
Fortunately, he did nothing of the kind. Just 
as I tore through the door the light in the 


by Google 

room went out ; I heard a scrambling noise, 
as if somebody was stumbling against furni- 
ture and knocking over chairs. Then I saw 
a blind lifted and a figure leaped through the 
open window. I believe I should have 
leaped after him if Eveleen had not stopped 
me. I had already lifted the corner of the 
blind when she shouted : — 

" Maud ! What are you going Vj 

" I can see him running across the lawn, 
and I believe he's taken all my presents I " 

"If he has, whatever good do you suppose 
you 11 be able to do by jumping through the 
window after him ? " 

" There he is ! He's going through the 
gate! He'll escape ! " 

Eveleen, coming rushing across the room, 
flung her arms around me and held me 

11 Come back ! " she 
cried ; which were 
hardly the correct 
words to use, since, as 
a matter of fact, I had 
not actually gone. 

Then papa and 
mamma and the ser- 
vants came hurrying in, 
and there was a fine 
to-do. That bu rg lar 
had apparently sup- 
posed that those wed- 
ding-presents had been 
laid out for his inspec- 
tion. Anyhow, he had 
gone carefully over 
them and selected the 
very best. As Eveleen 
rather coarsely — ami 
also ungratefully — put 
it, the things he had left 
behind were hardly 
worth having. He had 
taken Aunt Jane's tur- 
quoise bracelet, and 
Uncle Henry's pearl 
necklace, and Mrs, 
Mackenzie's diamond 
brooch, and, indeed, 
nearly every scrap of 
jewellery, and the 
silver tea service, and 
the dressing-case- -Georges own present to 
me— and five cheques, and all sorts of things ; 
though, of course, in" the excitement of the 
moment, we could hardly be certain what he 
had taken ; but I may say at once that it 
turned out to be worse even than we feared 
Original from 




When, at last, a policeman did appear upon 
the scene, he was anything but sympathetic* 
From his manner we might have left my 
presents lying about on purpose, and the 
window open too. He was the most dis- 
agreeable policeman I ever did encounter. 

smoothly and be as nice as it could be. 
Instead of which anything more tragic could 
hardly be conceived. 

To begin with, Eveleen, who seemed 
destined on that occasion to act as a bird 
of ill-omen, awoke me, for the second time. 


Anyone would easily imagine that after 
such an interruption there was no more sleep 
for me that night. But mamma insisted 
upon my going back to bed. Extraordinary 
though it may seem, I believe I was no 
sooner between the sheets than I was fast 
asleep. And that time I had no dreams. I 
was visited by no premonitions of what was 
to happen to me on what I had meant should 
be the happiest day of my life. My existence 
had been uneventful up to then. Scarcely 
anything worth speaking of had occurred, 
except my meeting George. It appeared that 
Fate had resolved to crowd into a few hours 
the misfortunes which might very well have 
been spread over the nineteen years I had 
been in the world. Everything went wrong ; 
some evil spirit had been let loose that day 
to play on me as many cruel pranks as it 
possibly could — I feel sure of it Stealing 
my wedding-presents was only the beginning. 
I had w T orked and schemed, planned and 
contrived, so that everything should go 

Vol. x*ix— 12. 

by Google 

out of sleep with a piece of information 
which was really almost worse than her first 
had been. Indeed, for a moment or two, 
when I realized all that it meant, it seemed 
to me to be an absolutely crushing blow. 
She waited till she was sure that I had my 
eyes wide open \ then she let fall her bomb- 

M Maud, 1 have another pleasant piece of 
news for you. Bertha has the measles." 

"Eveleen/' I exclaimed, starting up in 
bed, " what do you mean ? " 

" Exactly what I say. And as Constance 
slept with her last night she will probably 
have them also, so that you will, at any rate, 
be two bridesmaids short. Read that." 

She handed me a letter which she had 
been holding in her hand. Seating herself 
on the side of my bed, she watched me w T ith 
an air of calm resignation while I read it 
It was easy enough for her to be calm ; it 
was different for me. I had arranged for 
four bridesmaids. Bertha Ellis was to be 

Original from 



one; her cousin, Constance Fairer, was to 
be another. Bertha had had for some days 
what we had thought was a cold ; during the 
night it had turned into measles — at her time 
of life, because she was as old as I was. 
And Constance had actually slept in the 
same bed with her. So, as Mrs. Ellis had 
written to point out, it was altogether out of 
the question that either of them should be 
present at my wedding. 

"Now," I demanded, "perhaps you will 
be so good as to tell me what I am to do." 

" I suppose it would be too late to get any- 
one to take their places ? " 

" At the eleventh hour — practically at the 
church door ? And who is to get into their 
dresses? They are both of them so 
ridiculously small." 

" You would have them like that in order 
to make you look tall. It seems as if it were 
a judgment." 

"How can you say such awful things? 
Why don't you suggest something ? " 

" The only thing I am able to suggest is 
that you should do without them and put up 
with Ellen and me." 

" You know very well that I only asked 
Ellen Mackenzie because I knew that her 
mother was going to give me a diamond 
brooch — and now it's stolen. It's not alone 
that she's hideous, but she won't harmonize 
with me in the very least; and, anyhow, 
having only two bridesmaids will spoil 

"Then there's nothing for you to do 
except postpone the wedding, unless you 
know of some establishment where they hire 
out bridesmaids of all shapes and sizes on 
the shortest notice." 

" If it were your wedding-day I wouldn't 
talk to you so heartlessly. How can you be 
so unkind ? " 

"Pray, Maud, don't start crying. Red 
eyes and a red nose won't improve either 
your appearance or anything else. You are 
perfectly aware how your nose does go red 
on the slightest provocation." 

Talk about the affection of an only sister ! 
Mamma came in just as I felt like shaking 

" Oh, mamma," I burst out, " Bertha Ellis 
has the measles, and Constance Farrer is 
almost sure to have them, so I shall be two 
bridesmaids short, and I had set my heart on 
having four." 

Mamma was, if anything, less demon- 
strative in the way of sympathy even than 

" Be so good, Maud, as not to excite 

by Google 

yourself unnecessarily. You will have need 
of all your self-control before the day is over. 
Anything more unreasonable than your father's 
conduct I cannot imagine. He insists on 
going to the City." 

At that both Eveleen and I jumped up. 

"But, mamma, he's to give me away at 
half-past twelve ! " 

"That makes not the smallest difference 
to your father. It seems that there's some 
absurd foreign news which he says will turn 
that ridiculous City upside down, and he 
simply insists on going." 

I was beginning to put some clothes on 

" Then he sha'n't ! — I won't let him ! 
Mamma, you mustn't let him ! " 

" It's all very well for you to say that, and 
goodness knows I have done my best; but 
you might as well talk to a wooden figure- 
head as to your father when he is in one of 
his moods. He's gone already." 

" Gone ! Mamma ! " 

" He said that if he was not back at 
twelve he would meet you at the church 
door at half-past ; but you know how he may 
be relied upon to keep an appointment of 
that kind ; especially as he went out of his 
way to inform me — not for the first time — 
that the whole business is a pack of rubbish." 

There are fathers, no doubt, who take 
the tenderest interest in everything which 
concerns their children ; especially when 
they have only two, and both of them are 
daughters. But if my father has any tender- 
ness in him he manages to conceal the fact 
from the knowledge of his family. And as 
for interest, I doubt if he takes any real 
interest in either of us. When George was 
coming to the house about seven times a 
week mamma dropped a hint to papa to 
sound George as to what was the object of 
his dropping in so often. But papa could 
not be induced to take it. 

" Don't you try to induce me to ask the 
man if he intends to make a fool of himself, 
because I won't do it." That was all that 
papa could be persuaded to say. 

When, after all, without any prompting 
from anyone, George put to me the question 
on which hinged so much of my life's happi- 
ness, it was ever so long before anyone said 
a word about it to papa. As to referring 
George to him, as some daughters, more 
fortunately situated, might have done, I knew 
better. At last, one evening, when I was 
alone with him in the drawing-room after 
dinner, I managed to find courage enough to 
tell him. 

Original from 


9 1 

*■ Papa, I think you ought to know that I 
am engaged ro be married." 

He looked up from the book which he 
was reading* 

u What's that ? Rubbish ! " 

He looked down again. It was a pro- 
mising beginning. 

* 4 It may be rubbish, but it is a simple 
fact. I am engaged to be married," 

ih How old are you ? J ' 

41 1 should have thought 
you would have known 
my age, 1 was eighteen 
last birthday." 

"In another ten years 
it will be time enough to 
think of nonsense of that 

" Ten years ! I am 
going to be married in 
six weeks from to-day." 

u Be so good as not to 
interrupt me when Tm 
reading with nonsensical 
observations of that 

That was the form my 
fat he r' s congratulations 
took It may easily be 
imagined what trouble 
we had with him. He 
could not be brought to 
regard things seriously. 
It was not merely be- 
cause he thought I was 
too young ; if I had been * 
fifty it would have been 
exactly the same. It was 
simply because he hated 
being lathered. And 
yet when, after repeated 
trials, it was driven home 
to his understanding that 
I was going to be married, and that George 
was a respectable person, he surprised me by 
the generosity which he all at once displayed. 
One morning, as he was leaving the breakfast- 
table to start for the City, he slipped a piece 
of paper into my hand 

" That's to buy clothes." 

When I had looked at it, and saw it was a 
cheque, and the figures which were on it, 
I jumped up and ran after him into the 
hall, and kissed him, 

11 What's that for ? * he demanded I 
explained. Putting his hand on my shoulder 
he turned me towards the light and looked 
me up and down. Then lie remarked, 
" Perhaps, after all, that young man's not 

such a fool as I thought him." It was the 
nearest approach to a compliment he had 
ever paid me. 

What we had to endure from him on the 
great question of the wedding ! His ideas 
on the subject were barbarism. 

" Let us all go in a four-wheeler — we can 
put the young man on the box — and drive 
round the corner to the nearest registrar. It 



by Google 

will all be done in a business-like 
inside ten minutes," 

That was his notion of what a wedding 
ought to be. I need scarcely say that mine 
was entirely different. I had made up my 
mind to have a really pretty wedding. May 
Harvey had been married the year before. 
Hers was a pretty wedding ; I had resolved 
that mine should be prettier still Mamma, 
Eveleen, and I arranged everything. By 
degrees we persuaded him, if not exactly to 
agree, then at least to wink at what was 
going to happen. On one point I was firm — 
that he should give me away- He promised 
that he would. But when he began to realize 
what a pretty wedding really meant he 

Original from 



became restless and more and more trying, 
and he said the most horrid things. And 
now on the very day itself he had gone off 
to the City ! If I could have relied on his 
returning at twelve, or even on his meeting 
me at the church at half-past, I should not 
have minded. But I was perfectly aware 
that if business was at all pressing he would 
think nothing of sending one of his clerks 
to take his place ; on some absolutely 
essential matters I knew to my cost that 
he had not the slightest sense of propriety. 
As, however, all I could do was to hope for 
the best, there was nothing left but to appear 

" I presume if my own father doesn't care 
enough about me to trouble himself to be 
present at my marriage it's not of the slightest 

Just as I was about to sigh Eliza, the 
housemaid, appeared in the doorway, address- 
ing mamma. 

" If you please, ma'am, cook's going." 

Mamma turned round to her with a start. 

" Cook's going — where ? " 

" She's leaving the situation." 

" Eliza ! What do you mean ? " 

11 If you please, ma'am, Mary and she 
have been having words about who it was 
left the drawing-room window open last 
night ; and then Mary she said she believed 
as how it was cook's young man who broke 
in and stole Miss Maud's presents ; and then 
cook she said that after that she wouldn't 
stay with her in the same house not another 
minute; so she's gone upstairs to put her 
things together." 

Off went mamma to interview cook. I 
turned to Eveleen, who was still sitting on 
the side of my bed with an air of complete 
unconcern, as if nothing whatever mattered. 
I always did say that she was almost too 
much like papa. 

" It seems as if everything was going 
wrong — everything ! Eveleen, what is the 
time ? " 

"Just past ten." 

" Past ten 1 Has my dress come ? " She 
shook her head with an air of the utmost 
nonchalance. If it had been her dress ! 
" But Mme. Sylvia promised that I should 
have it before ten ! And I've had no break- 
fast ! " 

" There is breakfast waiting for you down- 

" As if I wanted any breakfast ! As if I 
could eat, feeling as I do ! You know that I 
had arranged to commence dressing at ten ! 
Eveleen, what am I to do ? " 

by Google 

" You mean about the dress ? It's only 
just past ten ; it may come still." 

" May come ! Eveleen, do you want me 
to — to hit you ? Eliza or someone must go 
at once and fetch it, finished or not." 

" I dare say Eliza can go, if you think it 
necessary. If you take my advice you won't 
excite yourself." 

"Won't excite myself! If it were your 
wedding and your dress you'd talk in a 
different strain." 

"I should have made different arrange- 

" You would have made " I bit my 

lip till it nearly bled ; I had to do something 
to stop myself. " I know how nice you can 
be if you like ; but I don't mean to quarrel 
with you, to-day of all days, if I can help it." 
As I was speaking Eliza reappeared in the 
doorway. "Eliza, I want you to get a 
hansom and to tell the man to drive you to 
Mme. Sylvia's as fast as he can. I'll give 
you a note to her. You're to bring my dress 
back with you. I'll write the note while 
you're putting on your hat Do be as quick 
as you can." 

" If you please, miss, Miss Mackenzie's 

A voice exclaimed behind Eliza : — 

"Oh, no, she's not; she's here." There 
stood Ellen, in her bridesmaid's dress, all 
smiles. She came bustling into the room — 
in that bustling way she always has. " Well, 
my children, how are you ? And how's the 
sweet young bride ? You told me to be here 
by ten — ready dressed — and here I am. 
What do you think of it ? " She turned and 
twisted herself about so as to show off her 
dress. " It's a bit tight under the arms and 
a shade loose in the back, but it's not so bad. 
Am I the first ? Where are Bertha and 
Constance ? " 

I waved my hand towards Eveleen. 

"Tell her— I can't!" 

Eveleen told her everything, and I will 
say this for her, she made out things to be 
as bad as they very well could be. Ellen 
Mackenzie's face was a study. She is one of 
the plainest girls I know — her dress did not 
suit her at all ; I knew it wouldn't ; nothing 
ever does ; and she seemed to grow plainer 
and plainer as she listened. But she was 
more sympathetic than any of my relations 
had been. She threw her arms round me, 
quite indifferent as to what might happen to 
her dress. 

" You poor darling ! To have had your 
presents stolen — and two bridesmaids down 
with the measles — and your father gone to that 

Original from 



horrid City — and the servants quarrelling — 
and now no wedding-dress E As to that 
Mme. Sylvia, if I were in your place I 
should feel like wringing her neck." 

" I shouldn't be surprised if I did wring it 
if my dress isn't ready by the time that Eliza 
gets there. Eliza, haven't you got your hat 

She had actually stood there looking on 
and listening, with her eyes and mouth wide 
open. But she was ready almost as soon as 
the note was — it was a note! And just as 
we had started her off, with strict injunctions 
to come back at once and bring the dress 
with her, if she had to snatch it out of 
the dressmaker's hands, a person arrived 
who stated that he was a detective and had 
come to inquire into the burglary, and who 
insisted on seeing me. So we saw him all 
three of us together, and a most unpleasant 
interview it was. He asked me the most 
disagreeable questions, 
wanting to know what 
I valued the missing 
presents at, and how 
much they had cost, 
and if the jewellery 
was real, and unplea- 
sant things of that sort, 
While we were in the 
very midst of it mamma 
came in in a state of 
painful excitement 

11 Are you a police- 
man ? " she demanded, 
Li Because if you are 
I should like you to 
tell my cook and my 
parlourmaid that if they 
leave my house this 
day without giving me 
due and proper notice 
they will do so at their 
peril, and that I shall 
prosecute them both as 
sure as they are living." 
The detective stroked 
his chin and seemed 
disinclined to do as 
mamma desired. She 

went on : " My parlourmaid has been making 
the most unwarrantable accusations against 
mycook t in consequence of which she declares 
that she won't stay in the house another 
minute ; and when I told my parlourmaid what 
I thought of her behaviour she announced that 
she should also go at once. They are both 
perfectly well aware that it is my daughters 
wedding-day, and that if they do go every- 



by t^iC 


thing will be in a state of confusion ; so I 
want you to speak to them and bring them to 
a proper sense of their duty." 

The detective still seemed dubious. 
" I am afraid, madam, that that sort of 
thing hardly comes within my jurisdiction. 
But if they are going I should like to ask them 
a few questions about this burglary before 
they leave the house." 

Cook with her hat on, and Mary with 
hers in her hand, had been standing in the 
doorway all the w T hile. Cook now came for- 
ward—battle in her eye ; we always had had 
trouble with her temper, 

" I'm quite ready to answer any questions 
that's put to me ; but if anyone says a word 
against Mr. Parsons, who's as honest and 
respectable a man as ever walked this earth, 
then I say they're liars/ J 

Then came Mary, who, as we had all of us 
noticed, always had a way of hinting more 
than she actually said. 
" What I say is true, 
and I'm not going to 
be f ri gh t e ned fro m 
speaking the truth by 
anyone. I say that 
Mr. Parsons was hang- 
ing about this house 
last night till after 
twelve o'clock ; and so 
he was." 

There was a frightful 
scene. I believe, if 
the detective had not 
been present, that those 
two women would have 
attacked each other. 
When Eveleen and 
Kllen got me hark into 
my own room my 
nerves were in such a 
state that I was trem- 
bling all over. It was 
past eleven. There 
were still no signs of 
Eliza or my dress, The 
carriage was to come to 
take me to the church 
at twelve ; the wedding 
was to be at half-past ; as we wanted to catch 
the afternoon train for Paris we had arranged 
to have it early. I was feeling both miserable 
and desperate, altogether different from what 
I had intended to feel. 

"I shall go and fetch the dress myself," I 

" Rather than you shall do that," exclaimed 
Eveleen, "111 go myself," And she went, 

Original from 




giving me a few words of advice before she 
departed. " Do control yourself, Maud, and 
don't give way. Everything will be all right 
if you keep calm. I promise to bring you 
your dress in twenty minutes, if I don't meet 
Eliza with it on the way." 

It was all very well for her to talk about 
keeping calm, but I had reached a stage 
when something had to be done. So I threw 
myself on the bed and had a cry. Although 
Ellen did try to comfort me it was not the 
slightest use. Then, when she saw the state 
I was in, she started crying too. And while 
we were both of us at it in came mamma. 
She was almost in a worse condition than we 
were. Cook and Mary had both left, and 
the detective had gone without having done 
the slightest good, and everything was topsy- 
turvy. The refreshments for the reception 
which was to take place after the wedding 
were to come in from outside, and the waiters 
also ; still, it was dreadful to be practically 
servantless. Mamma was in such a state of 
painful agitation that she almost drove me 
to hysterics. Then Jane, the kitchenmaid, 
came rushing in. Since Eliza had not yet 
returned, she was the only maid we had in 
the house. 

" If you please, ma'am, the carriages have 

" Carriages ! What carriages ? " 

" To take Miss Maud and her bridesmaids 
to the wedding, ma'am." 

" Wedding ! " Mamma laughed ; it was 
an awful sound. " Since it does not seem 
likely that there will be any wedding, it will 
hardly be worth their while to wait" 

" Shall I tell them to go, ma'am?" 

When the idiotic Jane asked that question 
I leapt right off the bed on to the floor. 

" Mamma 1 Jane ! How can you be so 
absurd ? " 

I was just going to give both of them a 
piece of my mind — because mamma's con- 
duct really was ridiculous — when someone 
else came tearing up the staircase. It was 
Eveleen, followed by a smartly-dressed young 
woman carrying a large box — at which I 
made a dash — with Eliza in the rear. 

" Here's your dress ! " cried Eveleen. 

The young woman began to explain. 

" Mme. Sylvia sends her apologies, and 
hopes you will excuse her for having kept 
you waiting ; but there has been an unavoid- 
able delay owing to an unfortunate mis- 
understanding " 

Eveleen cut her short. 

" We'll have the apologies and all that sort 
of thing afterwards. What you have to do, 

Maud, is to put on that dress in the shortest 
time on record, and let's hope it fits. You've 
been crying — so have you, mamma — and 
Ellen! You're three nice people. As for 
you, Ellen, nothing will get those marks off 
your face except clean water, and you'll have 
to wash." 

Ellen's complexion takes a tremendous 
time ; she uses all sorts of things for it, so 
that that was a bad blow for her. We all 
began to bustle. The young woman began 
to unpack the dress, and I got quite ready to 
slip into it when it was unpacked. Suddenly 
there was an exclamation from Mme. Sylvia's 

" My goodness ! what is this ? " She was 
holding up what looked as if it were some 
weird sort of a blouse made of all the colours 
of the rainbow ; it was certainly not part of 
my wedding-dress. She stared and we 
stared. Then she dropped on to a chair with 
a groan. "There's been a mistake," she 
gasped. " In the hurry I've brought a dress 
which we have been making for Mrs. Mark- 
ham for a fancy-dress ball, and I'm afraid 
your dress has gone to her." 

There are moments in life when, the worst 
having come to the worst, obviously the only 
thing left to do is to look it boldly in the face. 
I realized that one of those moments had 
come to me then. All hope was gone; 
nothing remained but to calmly face despair. 
I gave myself a sort of mental pinch, and 
walked quietly up to that young woman, 
feeling — and no doubt looking — almost 
dangerously cool. I picked up the parti- 
coloured garment, which was all that had 
been brought to me after all that strain and 

" This looks as if it might be some sort of 
fancy dress. Am I to understand that it is a 
fancy dress ? " 

I believe that that assistant was overawed 
by my manner. 

" Yes ; it's for one of our customers — a 
Mrs. Markham — for a fancy-dress ball." 

4 'And, pray, where is my wedding- 

" I expect it has been sent to Mrs. Mark- 
ham in mistake for hers." 

" And when may I rely on receiving it back 
from Mrs. Markham ? " 

" Not before to-morrow, at the earliest ; it 
has been put on a train at Euston — she lives 
in the North." 

" Since I am to be married to-day, it will 
not be of much use to me to-morrow, will it ? 
Put this article back in your box. Return it 
to Mme. Sylvia, and inform her, with my 

by Google 

Original from 



compliments, that she will hear from my 
solicitors. I should imagine that she will 
probably hear from Mrs, Mark ham's solicitors 
also. Take Mrs, Mark ham's fancy costume 
— and yourself — away as fast as you possibly 
can, Eveleen, 1 will be married in my going- 
awav dress." 

I have little doubt that they were all 
impressed by what, under the circumstances, 
seemed my almost preternatural calmness. 
Scarcely a word was spoken by anyone. Even 
mamma merely remarked that the assistants 
in Mrne. Sylvia's establishment seemed to be 
as utter idiots as their principal ; and that, 
for mamma, was nothing. I bundled her off 
to dress, and I made Eveleen and Ellen go 
too, I attired myself for my wedding, which 
was far from what I had intended to do. It 
had been arranged that I should be costumed 
by a sort of committee consisting of my four 
bridesmaids^ with mamma acting as my super- 
visor, But since that arrangement had been 
made everything had been altered ; and as 
now nothing remained but my going-away 
dress, I needed no assistance in putting on 
that With a travelling costume a bridal 
veil seemed almost painfully out of place, 
so I resolved to do without that also. I 
wore a hat* 

Just as I was 
putting thu finish- 
ing touches to my 
hat there came a 
tapping at my bed- 
room door. When 
I cried, " Come 
in : " to my amaze- 
ment who should 
enter but George's 
best man, Jack 

"Maud:" he ex- 
claimed, M What 
ever's up ? Do 
you know it's 
nearly two, and 
George is almost 
off his head, and 
the parson's 
going to a 
funeral ? " 

I turned to 
him with what 
he has since as- 
sured me was the air of a tragedy queen : — 

" I am ready now. We will start at 

He stared, as well he might. 

i4 Like that ? " he cried. 

" Like this. You and I will drive to the 
church together, and I will explain every- 
thing to you a^ we go." I hurried with him 
down the staircase, calling to the others as I 
went ; unseen, unnoticed, a quiver passed 
all over me as 1 recalled how, in the days 
gone by, with a prophetic eye, I had seen 
myself, a vision of snowy white, descend that 
staircase "with measured step and slow, 1 * 
surrounded by my bridesmaids. " Mamma, 
I'm going to drive to the church with Mr 
Bowles. You and Eveleen and Ellen had 
better follow in another carriage." 

" My dear 3 " mamma's voice came back. 
"What do you mean? I'm not nearly 
ready yet." 

M Maud ! " Eveleen distinctly shouted. 

But I waited for nothing; for no one, 
Hastening to a carriage with Mr. Bowles, off 
we started. It was rather an invidious posi- 
tion ; there had been passages with Mr, 
Bowles which made my situation one of 
some delicacy, When George told me that 
he had asked him to be his best man, 1 felt 
that he was hardly the person I should have 
chosen for the part. However, I had not 
quite seen my way to acquaint him with 
the manner in which Mr. Bowles had 

by Google 


behaved at Mrs* Miller's dance ; to speak of 
nothing else. So there we were alone together 
perhaps for the last time in our lives. 
Possibly what had passed between us made 
him all the quicker to feel for me in the 

Original from 

9 6 


plight in which — as I explained to him — I 
found myself. He showed the most perfect 
sympathy, Even George could not have 
been nicer. 

But, for me, disasters were not ended. I 
was to be the victim of another before the 
church was reached It seems to me that 
motor-cars are always doing something. As 
we were passing along the busiest part of the 
High Street one of them did something then. 
It skidded— or something— and took off one 
of our back wheels. Down dropped a 
corner of the brougham with a crash which 
sent me flying into Mr, Bowles's arms. 
Presently, when, apparently uninjured, we 
found ourselves standing in the road, the 
centre of an interested and rapidly increas- 
ing crowd, we realized that it might have 
been worse. 

" The stars," I murmured, with a presence 
of mind which, now that I look back upon 
it, seems to have been really phenomenal, 
" are fighting against me in their courses." 

" Poor old George," said Mr. Bowles, who 
was always rather inclined to slang, " will be 
fairly off his nut ! " 

All at once I espied papa coming along 
in a hansom cab. I called out to him. 
Stopping the cab he sprang out to us. 

*' What are you two doing here ? " he de- 
manded, in not 
u nreasonabl e 
as tonishment. 
Then he went on 
to offer exactly 
the kind of ex- 
plana t ion I had 
expected. "Do 
you know, I've 
been so occupied 
that I quite over- 
looked the fact 
that I was due 
with you at 
half-past twelve. 
I hope it 
made no differ- 
ence. Where's 
George ? " 

"He's at the 

"At the church? What's he doing 

** He's waiting for me to come and be 

"Waiting? How's that? Aren't you 
married already?" 

* No ; and — it— doesn't look — as if — I— 
ever — shall be." 

"Jump into my hansom — you and Bowles 
— we'll soon see about that" 

We jumped in, Mr Bowles and I, and we 
drove off to the church — to my wedding ! — 
three in a hansom cab ! If ever anyone had 
foretold that such a thing would— or could — 
have happened to me I should have expired 
on the spot. 

When we reached the church — we did 
reach it !— we found that such of the people 
as remained were standing on the steps or in 
the doorway. George, who was nearly dis- 
tracted, came rushing forward at the sight 
of me ; the people actually cheered. It 
appeared that the clergyman — our vicar — 
who had been specially retained, had gone 
to his funeral ; but a curate, of some sort, 
had been routed out from somewhere, and he 
performed the service* Just as it was begun 
in came mamma and Eveleen and Ellen. 
The instant it was over George and I rushed 
home, got my trunks — George himself 

helped to carry 
them — and tore 
off to Charing 
Cross just in time 
to catch the boat- 

When it had 
started, and he 
and I were in 
a compartment 
alone together, 
I put my head 
on his shoulder 
and I cried — 
with joy* Every- 
thing had gone 
as wrong as it 
very well could 
have done ; but 
we were safely 
married 1 


by Google 

Original from 

IVhich Are the Most Popular Pictures ? 


ft * 
w Is 

mass of the 
towards the 
painter — is 
Tate Gallery 
tests are applied to it. 
National Gallery, there 
who will maintain 
that the greatest 
pictures are left 
out in the cold, so 
to speak, though 
the number of 
those who will 
argue in this way 
will probably be 
smaller than in the 
case of the gallery 
which houses the 
Old Masters ; for 
the Tate Gallery is 
practically the 
home of the 
modem artist, and 
the critic who 
grovels, as it were, 
before an Old 
Master has scant 
respect for a new 

It is almost im- 
possible to place 
one picture as abso- 
lutely first in this 
gallery, but perhaps 
the one which 
really takes prece- 
dence of the rent is 
the late Mr, G. F, 
Watts's M Hope," 
Few paintings are 
more familiar to 
the great body of 
the public, as 
there are few print- 
sellers who fail to 

Vol, Kiijt.— 13 

N treating of the most popular 
pictures in the National Gallery 
in the November number of 
this Magazine, the fact which 
stood out so conspicuously— 
that the feeling of the great 
visitors went out instinctively 
finest examples of a given 
no less remarkable when the 
is considered and the same 
k% in the case of the 
are, no doubt* those 

exhibit it in their windows, *' Hope " is 
a typical example of the work of the man 
who regarded himself, as he has said, "as 
a thinker who happens to use the brush 
instead of a pencil " for the expression of his 

Mr. G, K, Chesterton wrote : " Standing 
before that picture, he finds himself in the 
presence of a great truth. He perceives 
that there is something in man which 
is always apparently on the eve of dis- 
appearing, but never disappears " ; while he 


by Vj< 

(Reproduced by 


WATTS. k,A. 

9 8 


adds : " an assurance which is always appa- 
rently saying farewell, and yet inimitably 
lingers, a string which is always stretched to 
snapping point, and yet never snaps," 

" Hope " is one of the three or four of the 
Watts pictures most frequently reproduced, 
another in the 
same gallery 
which runsithard 
in the race for 
popularity being 
" Love and Life." 
" It is this pic- 
ture," Mr, Watts 
said, "which 
probably best 
portrays my mes- 
sage to the age," 
"More than 
that," as he also 
wrote, " the pic- 
ture of my own 
which I like best 
is that in which 
I believe I have 
been most suc- 
cessful in ex- 
pressing my 
thought. This 
is 'Love and 
Life. 1 I have 
expressed my 
meaning perhaps 
best in this pic- 
ture because this 
meaning is sim- 
plest, that Love 
— by which I 
mean of course 
not physical i>as- 
siorij but altru- 
ism, tenderness 
— leads man to 
the highest life." 

Love, it need 
hardly be said, is 
represented by 
the male figure, 
strong in his im- 
mortal youth, his 
wings protecting 
the immature, 
girlish Life as she goes onwards up the rough 
path : he so loving, to use ,the words of 
Shakespeare : — 

That he nught not betecm the winds of Heaven 
Visit her face too roughly. 

Beneath Love's feet, as they ascend into the 
purer, more translucent air, towards the bluer 


(Reproduced by permission of V. HoLl)'*tv) 

sky, violets spring, as I^aertes prayed they 
might from the " fair and unpolluted flesh " 
of the beautiful Ophelia. It was Mr, Watts's 
idea that without the aid and guidance of 
Love — Love in its highest — human life could 
never have been able to rise to such heights. 

Mr. Orchard- 
son's ** Napoleon 
on Board the 
Belkrophon " and 
Burne- Jones's 
" King Cophe- 
tua" next claim 

It was with 
this picture that 
Mr. Orchardson 
" first blazed out 
into popularity 
in 18S1/' to use 
the expressive 
words of Sir 
Walter Arm- 

Of " Napoleon 
on Board the 
Betkrophon" Sir 
Walter wrote: 
"The aesthetic 
and the intellec- 
tual elements 
alike find their 
focus in the Em- 
peror's figure. All 
the rest is com- 
plement, com pi e- 
m en t rightly 
placed and just 
in proportion, 
balancing the 
masses, picking 
up and resolving 
the lines, com- 
pleting the chords 
of colour Mr, 
Orchardson is 
often blamed for 
his empty spaces. 
The truth is that 
his spaces- — and 
I confess they 
are often ample 
enough — are seldom empty. They are 
filled with subtle colour modulations, with 
the infinite echoes of a harmony which never 
dies completely into silence. Almost the 
only exception I can call to mind occurs in 
the picture.. we. are. now discussing. The 
mainsail of the Bdkropiwn seems * blinder/ 





more monotonous and opaque, than it need 
have been. But that seems a pettifogging 
fault to find" 

If I, for my part, may express a personal 
impression, I should be inclined to say that 
never was the value of space treated in a 
more masterly manner than it was in this 
picture by Mr. Orchardson, whose influence 
has done so much in teaching us that a 
room may be furnished with an atmosphere 
far better than by the multiplication of chairs, 
tables, and knick kmcks. To me the space 
introduced into this picture marks the isola- 

"How would I do?" asked the lady; 
" everybody says I am strikingly like 

Mr. Orchardson considered her face for a 
moment " You know," he said, smiling, 
'* I never see anything on the surface, I am 
always looking for the things that are hidden 
in order to try to see them/* It was in such 
light-hearted badinage that the painter 
suggested that the things which other people 
had seen had not escaped his eyes, A 
sitting was arranged — or> under the circum- 
stances, should one say a standing? — and 



tion of Napoleon — physically as well as spirit- 
ually — from the men to whose charge he was 
committed, and that is a vivid, a dramatic 
consideration which adds immensely to the 
strength of the picture and could have been 
obtained in no other way. 

There is a fact connected with the painting 
of this picture which gives it what is probably 
a unique interest in the history of art. One 
day a lady, a great friend of Mr, and Mrs, 
Orchardson, called on them at the house in 
Westgate where they were staying, and where 
the picture was actually painted. Not un- 
naturally the visitor led the conversation to 
the subject of the picture. " Who is sitting 
to you for the model of Napoleon ? " she 
asked. The figure had only just been 
sketched in and Mr- Orchardson said he 
had no model yet* 


another after that After the second sitting 
was over Ml Orchardson changed his 
clothes and went off to play a set at tennis, 
for lie Inul built himself a real tennis court 
adjoining his studio. After the game, going 
into the house to change, he thought he 
would look at the picture, He saw some- 
thing he wanted to improve. He picked up 
his palette with one hand, his brushes 
with the other. He began to work, and 
became so engrossed that it was only 
when the afternoon had faded to twilight 1 
and the twilight had darkened into 
dusk, putting an end to the possibility 
of painting, that he realized the flight of time 
or that his flannels were still unchanged. 
Next morning he went into the studio to look 
at the work He saw that it was finished. 




is a typical example of the work of him of 
whom Rossetti, his master, wrote: "If, as I 
hold, the noblest picture is a painted poem, 
then I say that in the whole history of Art 
there has never been a painter more greatly 
gifted than liurne-Jones with the highest 
qualities of poetical invention." The influ- 
ence of Botticelli is "writ large 1 ' over this 
picture, which, though conceived in 1870, 
was not really begun until 1880, and was 
finished in 1884, having been most worked 
at, perhaps, in 1883, It was exhibited in 

1884 at the Grosvenor Gallery, and it 
naturally attracted a great deal of atten- 
tion. It was presented to the nation by a 
subscription got up by a committee of 
gentlemen, who paid eight thousand pounds 
for it Shortly before it was sent to the 
Tate Gallery it was on exhibition at a fine 
art dealer's in Bond Street, and the Press 
was naturally invited to see it. The repre- 
sentative of one of the leading papers in 
Paris, in describing it, remarked that the 
King had white hair and a white beard ! 
As a matter of fact, the King's hair and 
beard are very dark indeed. 

The story of the King and the beggar 
maid is told in Percy's " Relics of Ancient 
Minstrelsy,' 1 and is quoted in at least three 
of the Shakespearian plays, while Lord 
Tennyson also made it the subject of a 
poem. No 
can possibly 
suggest the 
painting of 
rhe highly 
ornate ar- 
mour worn 
by the King, 
who has step- 
ped from his 
throne in 
order that the 
poorly- clad 
beggar maid 
w i t h o u t 
shoes to her 
feet may sit 
in his place. 
That "Blos- 
soms " should 
be one of the 
most popular 
pictures of 
the col lection 
is not to be 
wondered at, 
for, apart ah 

together from 

the harmonious 

colour scheme, 

there is in this 

example of the 

work of Albert 

Moore that 

grace, that 

classic refine- 
ment, that in- 

stinctive feeling 

forbeautywhicn T»ixLbert moork. 




was so characteristic of his work. To obtain 
this decorative effect he devoted the whole 
of his life from 1865, when he broke away 
from the religious work with which he had 
been occupying himself and produced " The 
Marble Seat/' followed by "Apricots/' 
" Pomegranates," and " The Quartette/ 7 
pictures which, it has been said, " to niany ? 
even to some scholars, seemed a revival of 
the style of the lost ancient paintings." 

marked one of the supreme moments in his 
career, the beginning of the change from his 
allegiance to the pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, 
a change which took some ten years com- 
pletely to accomplish, On its appearance 
u The Vale of Rest " created a sensation, 
yet the critics were by no means favourably 
impressed by it. It owes its origin to a 
Scotch superstition that, when a coffin-shaped 
cloud is seen in the sky, it foreshadows an 


In no exhibition of pictures in which 
several of the works of Sir John Everett 
Millais appear could there fail to be at least 
one which caught the popular fancy to a 
great degree. The reason of this is not 
difficult to understand. Millais was, as Sir 
Wyke Bayliss has called him, "the painter 
of men and women," and in the relations of 
man and woman there must of necessity 
be that dramatic element which appeals 
forcibly to the spectator, a characteristic 
which never failed to appear in the work of 
<he artist who, according to his contempo- 
raries, was, among the painters of the 
Victorian era, the one whose place was 
assured as the compeer of the Old Masters. 
"The Vale of Rest/' perhaps the most 
popular of his paintings, belongs to the 
earlier part of his career, for it was exhibited 
in the Royal Academy in 1859, 

" The Vale of Rest " is said to be one of 
the pictures which Millais himself ranked 
highest in his work. It has another im- 
portant consideration for the student, for it 


approaching death. The symbolism of the 
picture — described in the catalogue of the 
Tate Gallery as " the most poetic of Millais's 
works " — was beautifully expressed by Ruskin 
in his "Academy Notes" for 1859: — 

"The scene is the interior of a convent 
garden just at sunset. Two women iuc in 
the garden, which is illuminated by the light 
remaining in the western sky, that stood cool 
and grey in the zenith, while the rigid 
poplars, each like Death's ' lifted forefinger/ 
made bars against the red, orange, and 
crimson of the west, The guarding wall of 
the enclosure is hidden by ash and other 
trees, filling the intervals of the loftier 
foliage. The rough sward is broken here 
and there by low hillocks of graves, and en- 
cumbered by the headstones that stand green 
and sad in the waning light. One of the 
women is a novice, or lay sister, who, up to 
her knees in a grave, is busily and vigorously 
throwing out large spadefuls of earth. Her 
coif is thrown back from her face, which Is 
dull red with stess of labour. 




"Upon the prostrate headstone, taken 
from the new-made grave, sits an elder nun 
holding a rosary, and with the long black of 
her robes sweeping the dark, coarse grass ; 
her head is towards us, and by its expression 
we discover that she has seen the coffin- 
shaped cloud which hangs over the setting 
sun, and stretches a long, heavy bar of purple 
across a large part of the sky behind. She 
turns towards the east as if looking for the 
uprising, according to the promise, of a star 
of hope in eternity." 

Several artists with whom I have talked 
about the popular pictures at this gallery 
have expressed surprise that Rossetti, like 
Burne-Joncs, should be included in the list 
of pictures* Be this as it may, the " Beata 
Beatrix " is un- 
doubtedly one of 
the most popular. 
It may, without 
exaggeration, be 
said to be sacred 
to the memory 
of Mrs, Rossetti, 
audit is her best, 
if not her only, 
monument. «It 
was begun in 
1863, the year 
after her death, 
and was finished 
i n i 8 6 5 . In 
speaking of it, 
Rossetti said 
none of his pic- 
tures ever caused 
him so much 
pain in the paint- 
ing, but never 
had he been more 
conscious of his 
mastery of his 
art, Rossetti had 
made no direct 
studies for this 
picture, bu t 
it is thought 
that he m a y " ueata fkatrix." 
have used some 

of those he had prepared for " The 
Return of Tibullus to Delia," though this 
has not been definitely proved. It seems 
certain, however, that in the w Beata Beatrix B 
he allowed himself to recall his wife's face 
for the first time since her death. Who, 
looking at the canvas, can fail to recollect 
the strange, the dramatic circumstance under 
which he saw it for the last time ? As Mrs. 

Rossetti lay in her coffin, the poet-painter 
went into the room with a volume of manu- 
script poems which owed their inspiration, 
their being, to her and tenderly laid them in 
her hands, a present from the living to the 
dead, with whom they were buried. 

Remembering this circumstance, it is not 
difficult to understand how many critics have 
come to regard this as the most beautifully 
executed of all Rossetti's works, e%*en though 
in technique it does not rank so high as some 
of his other canvases. 

Kor years Rossetti refused to allow any 
reproductions to be made of it, although he 
was assured that if he consented it would be 
very profitable for him. It is a complete 
work, in that even the frame itself was designed 

by Rossetti, and 
on it are engraved 
Dante's words, 
when Beatrice's 
death u had de- 
spoiled the city 
of all dignity" : 
" How doth the 
city sit solitary 
that was full of 
people; how 
has she become 
a widow that was 
great among the 
nations/* Ros- 
setti himself 
wrote of the 
lt Beata Beatrix n 
in the following 
terms : — 

u The picture 
illustrates the 
( Vita Nuova,' 
embodying sym- 
bolically the 
death of Beatrice 
as treated in that 
work. The pic- 
ture is not in- 
tended at all to 
represent Death, 
but to render it 
under the sem- 
blance of a trance in which Beatrice, seated 
at a balcony overlooking the city, is suddenly 
rapt from earth to Heaven. 

" You will remember how Dante dwells on 
the desolation of the city in connection with 
the incident of her death, and for this reason 
I have introduced it as my background and 
make the figures of Dante and Love passing 
through the street and gazing ominously on 





one another, conscious of the event ; whilst 
the bird, the messenger of Death, drops one 
poppy into the hands of Beatrice. She, 
through her shut lids, is conscious of a new 
world as expressed in the last words of the 
* Vita, Nuova ' : 'That blessed Beatrice who 
now ga^eth continually on his countenance 
qui est fer omnia saea/fa henedicfus/ " 

The popularity of dogs for Englishmen 

canvas as a title— when it was going from 
my studio to the Royal Academy — the title 
which it now goes by. Mrs. Newman Smith 
has the picture, and I believe it k left to the 
National Gallery, I can only in conclusion 
add that Mr. Newman Smith was rather dis- 
appointed when his dog appeared in character 
rather than as ' The property of Newman 
Smith, Esq,, of Croydon Lodge.'" 


and of Landseer's treatment of them is 
attested by the fact that in the Tate as in 
the National Gallery one of his works holds 
a foremost place in the esteem of visitors* 
It is " A Distinguished Member of the Royal 
Humane Society," that splendid specimen of 
a Newfoundland which was first exhibited at 
the Royal Academy in 1838, which k most 
sought after. It was no imaginary dog, but 
a real one, the property of Mr. Newman 
Smith, of Croydon. Landseer first saw the 
animal carrying a basket of flowers, and was 
so struck with it that, one evening, when 
dining with its owner, he proposed to paint 
it The dog was sent to his studio in St. 
John's Wood, and used to lie quietly on a 
table while its portrait was being done. 
The history of this picture, for which 
Landseer got eighty pounds, was told by him 
in a letter to Mr. I^ambton Young, the then 
secretary of the Royal Humane Society, 
which was published in the Aihzn&um in 
February, 1885, The letter was as follows : 
(< I wrote in a hurry on the back of the 

In his " Old London," Mr. Ernest 
Watford said the dog's name was I^eo, "a 
frequent swimmer in the WandelL" This 
statement was brought to the notice of Mrs. 
Newman Smith by Mr, Algernon Graves, 
and that it is incorrect appears from a letter 
in which she said : " The dog was bred by the 
late Philip Bacon, and was given to us (his 
cousins) as a puppy. It was never out of 
the possession of the family, and lived and 
died in my husband's house. He was 
named Paul Pry." 

When the picture was finished, Samuel 
Rogers, the banker-pott, took .some ladies to 
Landseer's to see it, They were at once 
shown into the studio, though Landseer was 
not there. He was, however, in an adjoining 
room, where he could hear everything that 
was said. The picture was on the easel, and 
the ladies at once expressed unbounded 
admiration for it, Rogers, however, was by 
no means so satisfied, and said, "Same old 
story ; but the ring's good. Yes T the ring's 
good " — and be pointed to the mooring ring 




set into the end of the quay on which the 
dog is lying. Before they left, Rogers in- 
vited Landseer to breakfast next morning — 
and no one will need reminding that 
Rogers's breakfast-parties were among the 
great events of London society at the time. 
Not unnaturally, at breakfast, the conversa- 
tion turned on I^ndseer's picture. Instead 
of repeating his criticism of the day before 
Rogers expressed admiration for it in the 
highest possible terms. That was too much 
for Land seer, who had a vivid recollection 
of the events of the previous day. '* You 
didn't say so yesterday, Rogers/* he ex- 
claimed ; " why don't you stick to the rusty 
ring to-day?" 

Although a student at the Royal Scottish 

of a newly-created knight kneeling before the 
altar, keeping his vigil in prayer during the 
night season, needs no explanation. In the 
days when Punch made a point of caricatur- 
ing the Academy Exhibition it was burlesqued 
under the title of " The Sword Shallower," 
By that title, indeed, it is still humorously 
spoken of in certain quarters, and if any 
reader would like to discover for himself 
whether the title is remembered or not, 
let him go to the gallery and ask for 
" The Vigil " under that name. The 
probability is the attendant will reply, " There 
is no picture of that title in the gallery, but 
perhaps this is what you want," and he will 
lead the way to the Chantrey Room and 
point to "The Vigil" 

-THK VltilL 

Academy with Mr. Orohardson, Mr. 
MacWhirter, and Mr, Peter Graham, the 
work of the late John Pet tie, R.A., 
developed along lines of its own, though it 
preserved those traditions of fine technical 
execution under a keen appreciation of the 
value of colour tones which were inculcated 
by that school "The Vigil," which is the 
only example of Pettie's work at the Tate 
Gallery, where it enjoys so much considera- 
tion, was exhibited at the Academy in 1884, 
and was bought under the terms of the 
Chantrey Bequest in that year. The idea 
the painter sought to convey by his picture 

Digitized by \li005 J C 


The abundant popularity which is so 
universally extended to the work of Mr, W, 
Dendy Sadler is reflected in the favour which 
" Thursday n enjoys from the visitors to the 
Tate Gallery. It represents a scene which 
the sister Art of Music has made scarcely 
less popular in the song of the monks who 
To-morrow will lie Friday, 
So wc fish the stream to-day, 

Mr. Sadler is evidently, from his work, one of 
that rare band of artists to whom that touch 
of humour which is the saving grace of life 
never fails tq>pgfl^| ffeiift, as it were, some- 



■^ — ^- 



thing added to enhance the perception of the 
dramatic phase of the episode he treats, and 
not something which interferes with or mars 
the technical skill with w r hich his pictures are 
always finished. 

"The Pool of London n k one of the series 
of pictures to which the late Vicat Cole, R. A., 
devoted the last ten years of his life. It w;ls 


the excellence of his work which it is said 
caused the Royal Academicians to revise a 
custom which had been " honoured in the 
breach " for thirty years, for Mr* Vicat Cole was 
the first landscape painter given full honours 
as an Academician since Thomas Creswick 
— represented at tht_* Tate by "The Pathway 
to the Village Church'* — was elected in 1850. 

Vol. utix,—^ 

rg.n tbc photograph by F- Hanfttw,^ f ro m 




A Storv for Children. 



HE fresh arrival was a most 
singular -looking animal. He 
had a mane and tail like a 
horse, thin legs* like a stag, and 
a very ugly head with curious, 
curved horns sweeping down- 
ward over his face and nearly hiding his eyes. 

" May I join this happy little party ? " he 
asked, beaming pleasantly upon them. 

"Ah — er — I don't think I have the plea- 
sure of knowing you/' said the flamingo, a 
little stand-offish ly. 

" Why, it's the gnu, isn't it?" asked Girlie, 
who had been to the Zoo so frequently that 
she could recognise most of the animals. 

" Oh, Fm riot the gnu that you knew, my 
dear; I'm the new gnu," said the creature, 

" Really ? " exclaimed Girlie. " What has 
become of the old one ? " 

" He's dead," said the gnu, solemnly. 
" He had something the matter with his 
brain, I think. Well, really, it was enough 
to turn it when you come to think of it." 

" What was ? " exclaimed Girlie. 

11 Why, not knowing how to spell his own 
name," said the gnu. 

"Was there any doubt about it, then?" 
Girlie inquired. 

" Why, yes," the creature replied. "You 

see, there's ezwr so many ways of spelling our 
name, and they're all pronounced exactly 

" There's gnuo, to begin with,"' he went on, 
"and knu, and pnew, and new, and knoo, 
and gnu , and pnu, and nue, and knew, and 
gneu, and pnoo, and nu, and gnew, and knue, 
and pneu, and noo, and gnue, and kneu, and 
pnue, and neu, and if that isn't enough to 
drive anybody crazy I don't know what is/ r 

"Yes; you seem to be very delicate 
creatures," agreed the apteryx, mildly. " I 
once knew a gnu who had neuralgia, pneu- 
monia, and numismatics all at the same 

** I didn't know before that numismatics 
was a disease/' said the flamingo, sar- 

11 Nobody said it was," retorted the apteryx. 

" You said he had neuralgia, pneumonia, 
and numismatics" said the flamingo. 

"Well, I suppose people can have other 
things besides diseases, can't they?" replied 
the apteryx. "Besides, I've had numis- 
matics myself; they're delicious," he went 
on, defiantly. 

"What are they, then -something to eat?" 
asked the flamingo. 

"Oh, let's change the subject," said the 
apteryx, yawning, and Girlie came to the con- 
clusion that it -was <fX^T his artful way of 
getting out -bf'^kimng what the word 



numisfhatics meant. " I don't believe he 
knew himself," she thought. 

" Can you do anything now that you have 
come ? " asked the flamingo, somewhat 
abruptly, at this point, addressing the gnu. 

" I can sing a little," he admitted. 

« Oh— do, do, please ! " cried Girlie. " I 
should so like to hear a gnu sing." 

" Shouldn't it be a gnu song ? " asked the 
flamingo. " It sounds incorrect somehow 
to speak of a gnu, sing." 

" I didn't mean a new, you know j I 
meant gnu," explained Girlie. 

"But they are the same," protested the 
flamingo. " Besides, why shouldn't the gnu 
sing a new song ? " 

" Oh, please I " interrupted the gnu, 
"please do not pursue the subject, it is quite 
bewildering ; let me get on with the song, if 
I am to sing it." 

" Oh, yes, please do," cried Girlie. 

And, forming a little semicircle, they all 
sat down at the gnu's feet and waited for him 
to commence. 

" It's a little thing of my own called 
' Always-keep-a-civil-tongue-in-your-head-and- 
chief - aim - in-life - besides- which -it -is -often - 
rely-upon-the-opinion-of-others.' " He finished 
breathlessly, not having stopped to take breath 
during the entire sentence. 

44 Good gracious ! " exclaimed Girlie, " is 
all that the title of the song?" 

" Yes," replied the gnu, " though you can 

call it 'The Balloon,' if you prefer," he added, 
simply, and then commenced singing : — 

I'll sing a song about a man 

Who lived at Timbuctoo, 
Though how he lived or when he lived, 

I'll not relate to you. 
His head grew big, and bigger still, 

And bigger, every minute ; 
Yet when twas pointed out to him, 

He said, " There's nothing m it." 
And fat it grew, and fatter still, 

More fat, and even fatter ; 
But if a body mentioned it, 

He said, " It doesn't matter." 
It swelled and swelled to such a size, 

The man grew nearly blind ; 
But still he only smiled and said, 

" Indeed, I do not mind ! " 
No hat, in all far Timbuctoo, 

This monstrous head would fit ; 
Vet, when his neighbours grieved at this, 

He said, " Don t mention it." 
And still it grew, and grew, and grew, 

Till all became alarmed ; 
But he replied to all their fears, 

" Believe me, /am charmed ! " 
And when at length it grew so big 

That people in the dark 
Mistook him for a hansom cab, 

He murmured, " What a lark ! " 
At last the man light-headed grew, 

And roce up in the air ; 
And as he hovered high above 

He shouted, " I don't care ! " 

The gnu paused, and then added in a soft, 
melancholy voice :— 

Then slowly, in the dim far West, 

He disappeared from view, 
And with a red silk handkerchief 

Politely waved adieu. 


„ Original from 




Here the singer became so overcome that 
it was really quite pathetic to see him, and 
Girlie was just trying to comfort him when 
the alligator in livery came hurrying up and, 
speaking in a loud whisper, said to her : — 

u If you please, miss, the Hon wishes to 
know if you would mind going to the station 
now to meet the mullingong, as he has quite 
forgotten which station he is expected to 
arrive at," 

" But if he doesn't know, however am I to 
do so? " asked Girlie 

"I don't know') I'm 
sure," said the alligator, K 

scratching his head in ^V*C' - 

a puzzled way. " Per- ^ 2^\7 

haps you had better 
come and ask the 

secretary- hi rd," So Girlie bade adieu to her 
new friends and returned with the alligator* 



The secretary-bird was sitting beside the 
toucan under the trees when Girlie came up. 

" Oh, there you are," he observed. " You 
lud better go and meet the mull ingong now, 
hadn't you ? " 

u Yes. I've been asked lo do so. But - 
where am I to go to ? n asked Girlie. 

3illawd*^^«**^**^w« ■■»« ^jffl^^ft" ijf" rfflCftlG 



"That's your affair," said the secretary- 
bird, unconcernedly, 

"Of course," agreed the toucan, "decidedly 
her affair." 

"But who is he, or what is he, rather?" 
cried poor, bewildered Girlie. " I must know 
who I am going to meet ! " 

"I haven't the slightest idea," said the 

" Neither have I," said the toucan, yawn- 
ing ; " not the slightest idea, and, what's 
more, I don't care." 

" He's either a bird or an animal/' said the 

" Or vice versa" declared the toucan, 
wisely ; " probably vice verst% I should say," 

" I know he has a duck's bill," said the 
secretary - bird, " beca u se 
one of his names is 
ornithorhyncus, which is 
Greek for bird's snout, 
you know." 

" Besides, he has fur \ 
I happen to know that 
much," continued the 

"Then he can't be a 
bird," said Girlie, in 
despair. " I declare it's 
very puzzling." 

" Remember ! " said 
the toucan to Girlie, 
moving off, while the 
secretary-bird prepared to 
follow him, " everything 
depends upon your bring- 
ing him back with you. 
Oh, and, by-the-bye," he 
added, as an afterthought, 
" you might as well order supper to be sent 
at once ? the animals are beginning to get 
hungry, and if they are not fed soon they 
may become unmanageable, and in that case 
I won't be answerable for the consequences. 
So order supper at once, please," 

" But where?" cried Girlie, wildly, for the 
secretary-bird was hurrying away after the 
toucan, u Where ? And h&a) much am I to 
order, and who of?" 

" Oh, at the usual place," called out the 
secretary-bird, " and be sure not to order too 

" Nor too little," chimed in the toucan, 
who had waited for his friend. 

Before Girlie could ask another question 
they had both hurried down one of the side- 
paths, and, half flying and half running, were 
quickly out of sight. 

GirJi^ sat down under * tree and tried to 

collect her scattered senses, for she was per- 
fectly bewildered with all these commissions. 

" Let's see," the poor child thought ; "first 
of all I have to go and meet a creature that 
I've never seen or heard of before, and which 
may be either a bird or an animal, or both, 
from what I can make out ; then, when or 
where I am expected to meet him I haven't 
the slightest idea ; and finally I am to order 
supper for a number of birds and animals, 
and I am not told what to get, where I am 
to order it from, or what quantity I am to 
order. I declare it's too bad." 

" Prove it," said a voice over her head, 
and looking up Girlie saw a sloth hanging 
from the branches of a tree. He was hold- 
ing a slate with a pencil tied on to it towards 

14 ' PKDVE IT,' JiAHJ A VOl^E OV1LK HHk 11 LAP-" 

her. " Prove it," he repeated ; " I should 
like to see it in black and white," 

" What ? " exclaimed Girlie, 

"Why, you said it was too bad, didn't 
you? You should be able to prove it, if what 
you say is true. How much too bad is it ? " 
he asked, anxiously. 

" Oh, ever so much/* declared Girlie. 

"Ever so much is rather a lot," he said, 
doubtfully. " I don't think I can do com- 
pound sums; however, I'll put it down. Too 
bad from ever so much — let's see— too from 
much leaves- er— er — dear me, how much 
is much — I've forgotten for the moment?" 




"you'll never be abb tn make a sum of it 
Besides, what's the use if you do?" 

" I don't know," said the sloth ; " it will be 
a bother, won't it ? So perhaps, after all, we 
had better leave it. I should have liked to 
have proved it, though," he added, regret- 
fully. "Let's see, what was it you said — 
( it's too bad ' — wasn't it ? " 

"Yes," said Girlie, 

"It's very difficult to prove," said the sloth, 
looking at his slate in a puzzled manner. " I 
can see that \ but stop a minute, though ! " 
he added. "What's too bad? I forgot to 
ask you that ; it mav make a difference.' 1 

"Why," said Girlie, " Pve got to find the 
mullingong, and—" 

" That's easy," declared the sloth ; " he's 
in the box in the keeper's lodge. He came 
this morning ; I saw him." 

" Oh, where — where is the keeper's lodge, 
please ? " cried Girlie, 

"At the end of this path," was the reply ; 
"and the door's open " 

"Thank you very much," cried Girlie, 
hurrying off towards the keeper's lodge, a 
little more relieved in her mind. 



Before Girlie had gone very far she saw the 
keeper's lodge, with the door open, as the 
sloth had told her. 

She hurried forward and peeped in. A 
large, square wicker basket stood at one end 
of (he room, and this. Girlie at once con- 
cluded, must contain the mullingong. 

She raised the lid, which was only held 
down by its own weight, and saw a singular 
little creature curled up in the straw at the 
bottom of the basket, 

" This is he," she thought, giving 
a sigh of relief; for, although it had 
a furry coat, the little animal had 
also a flat bill, exactly like a duck's, 
just as the secretary-bird had said a 
mullingong should have. 

" I beg your pardon," began she ; 
but the mullingong only gave a 
startled little squeak, and tried to 
bury its head in the straw. 

"Why, it's frightened ! " exclaimed 
Girlie. " Don't be alarmed," she 
cried. " I wouldn't hurt you for any- 
thing," And she put out her hand 
to stroke the little creature's fur. 

The mullingong, however, had no 

intention of responding to these 

friendly overtures, and, withdrawing 

to the farther end of the basket, 

gave a series of agonized gasps. 

"I've come to meet you, you know," con- 
tinued the child, *' They are having a garden- 
party in your honour, so will you please come 
back with me ? " 

The little creature still remained silent, so 
Girlie thought the best thing to do was to 
try and lift it out of the basket. She soon 
had him under her arm and was hurrying 
back down the same path by which she 
had come. 

She had rather a difficulty in holding him 


K - '■"■"•, V 1 ;. , l '," v ,N "™ : "■« 




in her arms, though, for he kept wriggling 
about in a most disconcerting manner, 
flapping his beaver-like tail and opening and 
shutting his broad-webbed feet, and every 
now and then throwing back his head and 
gasping as though he were about to faint. 

She was hurrying along, all her attention 
being taken up by her troublesome charge, 

" There ! " exclaimed Girlie, in a vexed 
voice, "now Fve lost him again. What a 
pity ! " 

" I should think it's a very good thing," 
said the camel, with a sniff, "He didn't 
seem to be very useful, to himself nor to 
anyone else*" 

u You don't understand — - — " Girlie had 

4& j: 


when she suddenly heard a cough by her 
side, and turning around she saw a Hadrian 
came) (the kind with two humps, you know) 
standing looking at her with a particularly 
supercilious expression on his face. 

"You seem to be having rather a trouble 
with that creature/' he remarked* " What 
are you going to do with him ? w 

" Why, you know " began Girlie, when 

the camel interrupted her, 

" I don't know," he said, severely, " or I 
shouldn't have asked. What's he been doing?" 

" Nothing, that I know of," said Girlie, 

"Then why are you ill-treating him in 
that manner?" 

li I'm not * began Girlie, when, looking 

down, she could see that the mullingong had 
wriggled so far out of her arms that he was 
hanging head downwards by his tail, gasping, 
and turning up the whites of his eyes " like a 
dying duck in a thunderstorm," thought Girlie. 

She made an effort to get him comfortably 
settled again, but just as she thought that 
she had managed it he suddenly sprang from 
her arms and disappeared into the shrubbery 
by the side of the path. 


begun, when just then she heard the little well- 
known squeak, and without waiting to say any- 
thing more to the camel she hurried off in 
the direction from which it proceeded, in the 
hope of catching the mullingong again. To 
her surprise she found herself in a narrow 
lane between two hedges a little higher 
than herself 

" Dear me ! " she thought, " I don't re- 
member this plate at the Zoo before I 
wonder where it leads to ? ?3 

She went on for a while, and then suddenly 
found herself at a standstill. The little lane 
had ended abruptly, and she could proceed 
no farther, 

i{ What a bother ! JJ she exclaimed. "Now 
I shall just have to go back again, I sup- 

This was easier said than done, for when 
Girlie tried to retrace her steps she found 
that a little way down the lane branched off 
in two directions, and having chosen one she 
followed it till she came to a full-stop at the 
end of it, and once more had to try and find 
her way back, only to discover a minute or 
two later that Vie had somehow iiot into a 




lane entirely different from any in which she 
had been before. 

" Oh, dear ! " she sighed, wearily, after she 
had been hurrying like this from one lane to 
another for some time, t£ I must have got 
into a maze somehow, I suppose, although I 
had no idea that there was one here, I'm 
sure I've never seen it before in all the times 
I've been to the Zoo. I wonder if I shall 
meet someone who can tell me how to get 
out, otherwise I may be here for ever ? This 
terrible thought caused her to renew her 
efforts to escape, and she began running 
frantically from one lane to the other 
Presently she heard a pattering of feet, and, 
looking behind her, she saw a funny little fat 
bird waddling along as quickly as he could, 
mopping his forehead (if birds have such a 
thing) with a very brightly- coloured handker- 
chief. He hurried up ? breathing heavily, 

" I'm a puffin/' he announced, somewhat 
abruptly, when he reached Girlie's side* , 

- *So I hear," said Girlie. "You really 
shouldn't run so hard ; I'm sure it cannot be 
good for you, especially as you have such a 
difficulty in breathing," 

"When I say Fm a puffin," the bird said, 
still dabbing at his forehead with the hand- 
kerchief — "when I say that I'm a puffin I 
hope that you don't think that I mean I'm 
a-puffing \ for although I am a puffin, and my 
father was a puffin before me, a person may be 
;t puffin without being a-pufling. Although/' 
he admitted 
with a smile, 
" I certainly, 
at the pre- 
sent time, 
am both a 
puffin and 
a-puffing — a 
puffing puf- 
fin, in fact, 
aren't I ? " 

"I— I- 
suppose so," 
Girlie, who 

was trying to follow this reasoning, and 
who was beginning to feel a little confused. 

11 I thought I'd hurry to catch you up," 
continued the puffin, "so that we might be 
company for each other; we may have to 
remain here for a very long time, you know." 
" Dear me ! Do you think so ? " said Girlie, 
as they walked on together. "How long 
have you been in the maze, please ? " 

14 Oh, about two hours, I believe," said the 
puffin ; " but, bless you, that's nothing. Some 
people are twice as long as that getting to 
the centre." 

<( What is the use of getting to the centre ? n 
asked Girlie. "Is there anything to be seen 
when you get there ? " 

u Of course/' answered the puffin ; " there's 
supper, I think it's rather a good idea, don't 
you? When the supper-beil rings you all 
enter the maze, and everybody tries to get to 
the centre (where the tables are) first* Of 
course, only a few get thereat a time, and con- 
sequently there is no crowding, and, besides, 
some people never get there at all ; so that 
there's all the more tor other people, besides 
being a great saving for the host and hostess," 
"But I should think it's rather uncomfort- 
able for the guests, isn't it ? n asked Girlie, 
who was just thinking in her own mind that 
she preferred the old-fashioned way of going 
in to supper, when at the end of a par- 
ticularly short turning they suddenly found 
themselves in a kind of square courtyard, 

in which, on 
the grass, 
several long 
tables were 
arranged for 

" Why, 
here we are 
at the cen~ 
t re," ex- 
claimed the 
" The first 
two in to 

_ _ -«LV— ^-_ 


(To be continued.) 

by Google 

Original from 

Aii Intentional Explosion. 

/Lustrations from Photographs by Mr. H. Fanc^ Bfoemjmtein* O. A\ C. 

HIS fine explosion was a pre- 
meditated affair. Had it 
occurred anywhere except on 
the lonely veldt, thousands 
might have been able to wit- 
ness a spectacle of great mag- 
nificence. As it was, it was witnessed by 


few except those immediately concerned, 
and one photographer of skill and nerve* 

But where comes in this explosion of 
which we write? Merely, we answer, as a 
result of the end of the Boer War. When 
the conflict was ended an enormous amount 
of material, sent to the front > had to be done 
away with. To burn up your powder, to 
get rid of your antiquated 
shells, or those which once 
may have belonged to some- 
one else, is one of the losses 
of war. 

The operation was carried 
out some time ago by the 
Ordnance Depot at Bloem- 
fontein, and, in order that 
no one might be injured by 
flying fragments, a pit twenty 
feet square by twenty deep 
was dug in the veldt, two 
miles from the depot itself 
^nd three miles from the 

town. The ammunition shown in our illus- 
trations is but a very small proportion of the 
amount totally destroyed in the series of 
explosions, of which this was the grand finale. 
Each time the explosion was differently 
arranged, for many distinct forms of ammu- 
nition lay around for use y and each, of 

course, had to 
be arranged in 
such a way that 
no harm should 
result Accord- 
ingly, in the bot- 
tom of the pit 
the heavier shells 
were laid on the 
ground. Above 
these were placed 
the smaller pro- 
jectiles and wet 
gun - cotton. On 
top of all, bags 
filled with earth 
were placed to 
tamp the explo- 
sion and to in- 
crease the de to- 
native effect 

Let us ex- 
amine for a 
moment more closely the projectiles which 
wrought such a splendid spectacle, Our 
first photograph shows a group of men 
arranging the projectiles. In the lower 
row are shells of a 9 '45 in, howitzer, 
the weight of each shell being two hun- 
dred and fifty pounds, with an explosive 
charge of black powder. Interspersed 




rr 4 


between these are the service high 
explosive 6in. and 4 '4 7 in. shell, contain- 
ing lyddite, the shells weighing one hundred 
pounds and forty-five pounds respectively. 
Regarding the larger projectiles, it is in- 
teresting to know that they were supplied 
for the howitzers intended for the siege of 
Pretoria* Curiously enough, these shells 
r~ere part of a large consignment sent by train 
to Pretoria in June, 1900, but they never 
reached their destination. The train was 
intercepted by General De Wet, its contents 
looted, and the debris, including a large 
mail, a great quantity of clothing, and these 
very projectiles, was placed on a heap and 
fired. il When we covered fifteen hundred 
paces," wrote DeWet himself, il wc heard the 
explosion of the first shells and wheeled 
round to view the conflagration- The night 
was very dark, and this rendered the sight 
that met our eyes still more imposing. It 
was the most beautiful display of fireworks 
that I have ever seen, One could hear 
between the thunder of the big bombs the 
dull report of exploding cordite. Mean- 


while, the dark sky was resplendent with the 
red glow 7 of the flames." 

If we now* look at the second illustration, 
showing sand -bags on top of the projectiles, 
we may note at either end of the mass a few 
white stabs. These are made of gun-cotton, 
used in the Army for all disruptive purposes, 
and by means of which this particular explo- 
sion was made possible. In its dry suae 
gun-cotton explodes violently, but when 
damped with a certain percentage of water 
is harmless. If, however, it is subjected to 
the action of dry cotton — or, to put it better, 
if the cakes of wet gun-cotton are perforated 
to allow a '* primer " of dry gun-cotton to be 
placed in the damp mass it is an even more 
powerful explosive than when wholly dry. 
The speed at which the detonation travels 
from one mass to another is at least eighteen 
thousand feet per second 

We may note, also, in our first photograph 
two thin ribbons of white leading from the 
mass of projectiles over the side and top of 
the pit. These were the electric wires by 
which the detonator was fired from a covered 

position some 
distance away. 
The photograph 
shows the officer 
in charge attach- 
ing the electric 
detonator con- 
taining the dry 
4i primer ?1 to the 
slab of gun- 
cotton. The wires 
were led to a 
block - house, 
where they were 
joined to a so- 
called ** quantity 
exploder." One 
single pressure on 
the lever of this 
machine was all 
that was neces- 
sary to let Inferno 

The camera 
which took these 
pictures, operated 
by Mr. H. Fane, 
of Bloemfontein, 
was placed half a 
mile from the 
scene of the explo- 
sion. A thick 
column of smoke 
five, hundred 






if it were tied together in 
a coil and welcomed its 
liberation, it disseminated 
itself side wise and upwards, 
finally disappearing into the 
realms of space. In less 
time than it takes to write 
a small bit of dry cotton 
had turned a mass of 
inert matter, weighing thou- 
sands of pounds, Into a 
demon of danger, had burst 
strong iron into thousands 
of flying fragments, and 
had pushed instantaneously 
upward, against a heavy 
weight of air, an enormous 
volume of dense and dan- 
gerous smoke. 

What the downward effect 
of this immense explosion 
was may also be seen. The 
mass of shell was entirely 
shattered, and huge quanti- 
ties of earth, dislodged by 
the detonation, covered the 
fragments in the pit For 
some time after the explo- 
sion the pit was filled with 
noxious or poisonous gases 
which prevented approach. 
Fragments of the projectiles 
were found at any distance 
from twenty ■ five to two 
thousand yards away, one 
fragment of a g'5 howitzer 
shell having been picked up 
eighteen hundred yards , or 
over a mile, from the pit 

feet in height by two hundred 
feet wide burst from the 
bowels of the earth, succeeded 
by a deafening shock which 
shook the neighbouring town 
almost to its foundations. 
There was magnificence of 
colour in this mass of smoke 
The greenish yellow fames of 
lyddite were distinctly to be 
seen, lending momentary 
beauty to the towering crest 
of smoke climbing so quickly 
into the clear atmosphere 
above. It was some minutes 
before this enormous mass 
of black was dispersed, 
Unfolding itself gradually as 




' r** 

i»- * *^^H 

>?*£ : * 


t«« 1 ' r 



T HilWWff!S|»X 



Copyright, 1905, by George Newne*, Limited. 
[We shall ht glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as art accepted.} 


11 1 send you a photograph of my French poodle, 

taken after playing in deep snow. You will notice 

that the dog is begging* It might be interesting to 

know if your numerous readers can guess the subject 

of the photograph. As she plunged in ihe snow small 
balls formed all over her body and legs, and some of 
them were bigger than cricket balls." — Miss Bridget 
N< C. Warner, Mai mains, French ay, near Bristol. 

" I send -you a photograph of a remarkable auto- 
mobile taken by Mr. IX H, Hammond; you will 
notice that its construction is peculiar. On close 
inspection it will be seen that the lxjdy is made 
of a wheelbarrow ; the wheels are taken from 
a farmer's seed- drill ; 
its tyres are eottoji- 
covered garden hose ; 
the seats being wash- 
boards and * gem * 
tins; the tank, a gal- 
vanic auto - sprayer ; 
mudguards, six - inch 
leather belting ; the 
horn , gas tubing wilh 
tin funnel ; the dash, 
wire cloth ; and the 
handles, from cook- 
ing pots. Special 
notice should he taken 
of the chauffeur j who 
is made the body vf 
halls of cord and 
neck of a cone of 
cord/ 1 — Mr. Frank 
G, Gramer, 31, F. 
Main Street, Roches- 
ter, NY. 

"The original idea of a walking post-office comes 
from Seacomhe, Cheshire, and was made by me to 
help ihe hospitals in cycle- pa rades, etc. ; it has 
won many prices. You may give the idea to the 
Postmaster ■ (General for his consideration.* 1 -- Mr. 
S. M. Jones, 65, Bell Koad, Si-sicomU-, Cheshire. 




"The elephant seen 
in I he photograph is 
generally made up by 
men of the 15th Com- 
pany R* G. A. , who have 
been to the Fast Indies 
and know the native 
language. As soon as 
completed the driver 
leads him round the 
barracks and the 
officers' quarters, the 
driver and his assist- 
ants using native lan- 
guage during the tour, 
This elephant can be 
made to dance or sing, 
the music being sup 
plied by one of the 
men composing the 
elephant, who plays a 
mouth-organ- A piece 
of thin twine is made 
fast to the bottom of the trunk and passed through 
the blankets to one of the men underneath, and as 
he draws ilic siring in to him so the trunk rises in the 
same manner as that of a real elephant would do when 
eating ; on the thread being slackened the trunk is 
lowered to lis original position. The clog enjoys the 
■port as well as anyone, and is quite content when 
he is on the elephant's hack." — Mr* R. Morrison, 
15th Company R,G.A + , Londonderry. 


structive to the children, showing as it does the vast 
difference Viet ween the power of the front legs and 
the hind ones. : ' — Mr. W, J* Nolt, Temple Newsam, 



An Excellent Ooatly Watch of 
with completes free. 

Apply with half-anna stamp to—* 

Messrs M. A, Ghatalah Si Co., 

CbiUoor, North Arcot* 



*'The cutting I send you is taken from the 
advertisement page of an English weekly, the East. 
It will give your readers an iclea of the curious ways 
in which advertisements in English generally appear 
in Indian papers. 1 '— Mr. Brajrendra Krishna Shi, 
Wari, Dacca, Bengal, India. 

" I send you a photo, which I think will he a 
rara avis to the majority of your readers, ?»., a while 
mole* It should be especially interesting and in- 

H I send you a photo, of fifteen inches of the end 
of a beam supporting the roof of a piano showroom in 
this city, which we took out and replaced by an iron 
girder a short time ago. The span of the roof is 
nineteen feel in the clear, and 
the beams are five feet apart ; 
the weight of concrete roof 
which has been practically lying 
on this fifteen inches of rotten 
hone veo mb is about four tons 
as near as possible* I may add 
that the only specimen of ant- 
eaten t>eam in the Indian Museum 
is, in comparison to this one s 
1 soJic? block t*f wood/' — Mr. 

Fawlwfe-'Aet, Ckl 


i tS 


"While in Fort Collins, Colorado, recently, my attention was 
attracted to a blacksmith's shop in front of which were two large 
pillars or columns made entirely of horseshoes which had been taken 
from horses shod in the shop. The columns are about eighteen and 
sixteen feet in height, as large as a hogshead at the base and tapering 
off near the top, — Mr. John D* IJowe, Lock Box 776, Omaha, 

14 This picture was taken by Thomas Stout, chief clerk of the 
Cily Solicitor's office at Philadelphia, Pa. It represents the freakish 
force of an explosion of gas which raised a gasometer, weighing 
twenty tons, fifty feet in the air; and let it drop down again upon the 
iron framework from which it was lifted. The tank h ad just been built 
for Lhe North Pennsylvania Gas Company to supply the towns of Fort 
Washington, Ambler, and other suburbs of Philadelphia with gas. 
It was being filled for the first time, and it is thought thai the 
explosion which occurred resulted from the injection of overheated 
jjas. The explosion shook the air violently for a mile around and 

broke many windows. The return ot 
the immense sheet -iron lank, which 
is twenty- five feet in height and thirty 
feet in diameter, lo its present resting- 
place after sailing up in the air is 
remarkable." — Mr. Win. B* Bray, 
[,109, Market Street, Philadelphia. 

"The statue shown, in the photo- 
graph is very curious, as the full ow- 
ing will show. It was sculptured 
for, and represents, Louis XIV. of 
France, and was bring conveyed 
to that country when the vessel 
containing it (and also the sculptor) 
was captured by ;in English ship 
commanded by Sir R. Holmes, a 
naval celebrity of that period. 
The body was finished, the head 
being left for completion on its 
arrival in France. On learning 
Who it was for the Knglisli com- 
mander compelled the sculptor 
to finish it, by chiselling his 
(Holmes's) head on the King's 
body. Sir R. Holmes was after- 
wards made Governor of the Isle 
of Wight, and held this office 
from 1667 till 1692, and after 
his death the statue was erected 
to his memory and can still l>e 
seen in the quaint little church at 
Yarmouth, Isle of Wight," — Mr. 
jI. F, i '.11 es, 123, High Street, 




41 This collision , which occurred he t ween two loco- 
motives, was ' made to order ' for an exhibition given 
at Point of Pines, a resort near Boston* Mass, A 
track about a mile long was built from a railroad line 
and the engines run oat on it, one being placed at 
either end of the track* They had been condemned 
by the railroad company as unfit for use for hauling 
trains, and it was decided to see what would be the 
result of driving them against one another* A full 
head of steam was generated on each \ then the 
engineers pulled open the valves which started tbern 
and leaped to the ground. The engines met nearly 
half way , and were forced into the air by the shock, 
which tnre off the pilot of each, broke off the smoke- 
stacks, and crushed in the front parts of each boiler, 
allowing the steam to escape in clouds, Pieces of 
iron were throw r n rive hunt' red feet away by the force 
of the collision, which was witnessed by ten thousand 
people,"— Mr. I). Allen Wittey, Baltimore. 

"This is a photograph of a rudimentary pump 
employed for agricultural purposes in an out-of-the 
way part of Germany. The wheel is a kind of cage, 
in which the dog is incarcerated, lie plunges 
continually forward , barking loudly the while, and 
the revolutions of the wheel thus produced set the 
necessary machinery in motion, At the time the 
photograph was taken the captive's movements were 
so rapid that he appears somewhat spectral in the 
picture* He is sometimes replaced by the boy on the 
left, who, by crawling forward, dors the same work, 
though more slowly. The dog on the right is serving 

an apprenticeship,"— frfiss A. C Metcalfe, Sutton 
Manor House, Wansford, Northants. 

11 Amongst the many wonderful specimens of in- 
genuity in nest -building, that of the African social gros- 
beak is very remarkable, not for its neatness, now* 
ever, for it is rather slovenly, but for its enormous size. 
Seen at a distance the nests resemble native huts 

and, were I hey not so high, might 
easily lie mistaken for such. Tliey 
are built usually on a long, thick 
branch of a camel thorn tree* and 
one nest (c>r colony) comprises often 
more than a hundred nests closely 
packed together. The entrance being 
along the depending edge or fringe, 
nn rain or wind can enter the com* 
fur ta hie abode. The weight of these 
nests (after years of additions for 
the growing family) becomes so great 
that even the thick branch around 
which they are built becomes unable 
to sustain the weight, the branch 
snaps during a wind storm, and 
the poor, helpless inmates find 
themselves homeless -- many, no 
doubt, lieing killed by the fall. 
The bird itself is small, about the 
size o( our English sparrow, and of 

ridlflatfmffl loi,r ;. M £ A « J< Good > 



saucer, pieces of wire> a 
pipe stem, a toy animal, a 
pocket of an apron, house 
flannel, brown, paper, 
newspaper, slicks, hay, 
straw, etc., etc." — Mr. 
A. Nobbs, The Gardens, 
Beech Hurst, Hay ward's 
Heath, Sussex. 

** I send you a photo- 
graph of the contents of a 
heifer's stomach* The 
animal was bred in Ire- 
land, and fattened for the 
butcher at Brotifh 
Sowerby, Westmorland. 
It seems to have thriven 
well on a mixed diet of 
iron, stone, and glass; 
while an occasional cart- 
ridge or two has, no 
doubt j helped it to go 
off at a good price 
when it was readv for the 
butcher."— Mr. J. BAVab 
ton, 5, Povnder's Road, 
Clapham Park, S.W, 
Photo, by C R. Davis. 


" I send you two snap-shots of 
a lamp- st and, w r hich my nephew 
and niece! aged respectively 
twelve and thirteen years, dressed 
up to surprise us. I thought il 
so well done for such young folk 
that I snapped it."— Mr, j + S + 
Towgood, Park lands, 3, Park 
Crescent, Brighton. 



i » 



" Helow are the contents of a 
jackdaw's nest found in a chim- 
ney at Beech Hurst during altera- 
tions. Thinking it a curious 
collection 1 photographed it* 
Amongst the items arc a wooden 
wheel of a child's perambulator, 
a euhe block with the letter 'J s 
on il, a lead whistle -end of a toy 
trumpet, a doll's hath, half a tea 

m*' 56 fan mm sf *N^s 





(""rw^nL'' Original from 





The Strand Magazine. 

Vol xxix. 

FEBRUARY, 1905. 

No. 170. 


By E. W. Hornung. 

AKHEIMERT had been in 
many dust-storms, but never 
in such a storm so far from 
the haunts of men. Awaking 
in his blanket with his mouth 
full of sand, he had opened 

his eyes to the blinding sting of a storm 

which already shrouded the very tree under 

which he lay. Other landmarks there were 

none ; the world was swallowed in a yellow 

swirl that turned 

browner and 

more opaque 

even as Van- 

heimert shook 

himself out of 

his blanket and 

ran for the fence 

as for his life. 

He had only left 

it in order to 

camp where his 

tree had towered 

against the stars; 

it could not be 

a hundred yards 

away ; and along 

the fence ran 

that beaten track 

to which the 

bush man turned 

instinctively in 

his panic. In a 

few seconds he was grop- 
ing with outstretched 

hands to break the violence 

of a collision with invisible 

wires ; in a few minutes, 

standing at a loss* wondering 

where the wires or he had 

got to, and whether it would not be wise to 

retrace his steps and try again. And white 

he wondered a fit of coughing drove the 

dust from his mouth like smoke ; and even 

as he coughed the thickening swirl obliterated 

his tracks as swiftly as heavy snow. 
Speckled eye-balls stood out of a sanded 

face as Vanheimert saw himself adrift and 
Y9L x*u*-i9w 


drowning m the dust He was a huge young 
fellow, and it was a great, smooth face from 
which the gaping mouth cut a slice from jaw 
to jaw. Terror and rage, and an overpowering 
passion of self-pity, convulsed the coarse 
features in turn ; then, with the grunt of a 
wounded beast, he rallied and plunged to his 
destruction, deeper and deeper into the bush, 
farther and farther from the fence. 

The trees were few and mostly stunted, 

but Vanheimert 
crashed into 
more than one 
upon his head- 
long course, 
The sense was 
choked out of 
him already ; he 
was fleeing on 
the wings of the 
storm ; of direc- 
tion he thought 
no more. He 
forgot that the 
run he had been 
traversing was at 
the best aban- 
doned by man 
and beast ; he 
forgot the lazy 
days that he 
had promised 
himself at the 
deserted home- 
stead where he 
had once worked 
as a lad* He 
might have re- 
membered that 


the paddock in 
which he w r as burying himself had always been 
the largest in the district. It was a ten-mile 
block without subdividing fence or drop ot 
water from end to end. The whole station 
was a howling desert, little likely to be stocked 
a second time by enlightened man, But this 
was the desert's heart,, and into it sped 
VanHAMtifeHjf^Bited yeiiAitaftNthe eyes and 



lips, the dust-fiend himself in visible shape. 
Now he staggered in his stride, now fell 
headlong to cough and sob in the hollow of 
his arm. The unfortunate young man had 
the courage of his desperate strait Many 
times he arose and hurled himself onward 
with curse or prayer ; many times he fell or 
flung himself back to earth. But at length 
the storm passed over and over his spent 
members ; sand gathered by the handful in 
the folds of his clothes ; the end was as 
near as end could be. 

It was just then that two riders, who 
fancied they had heard a voice, struck an un- 
doubted trail before it vanished, and followed 
it to the great sprawling body in which the 
dregs of life pulsed feebly. The thing 
groaned as it was lifted and strapped upon a 
horse ; it muttered nonsense at the taste of 
raw spirits later in the same hour. It was 
high noon before Vanheimert opened a 
seeing eye and blinked it in the unveiled 

He was lying on a blanket in a treeless 
hollow in the midst of trees. The ground 
had been cleared by no human hand ; it was 
a little basin of barren clay, burnt to a brick, 
and drained by the tiny water-hole that 
sparkled through its thatch of leaves and 
branches in the centre of a natural circle. 
Vanheimert lay on the eastern circumference ; 
it was the sun falling sheer on his upturned 
face that cut short his sleep of deep 
exhaustion. The sky was a dark, pellucid 
blue ; but every leaf within Vanheimert's 
vision bore its little load of sand, and the 
sand was clotted as though the dust-storm 
had ended with the usual shower. Van- 
heimert turned and viewed the sylvan amphi- 
theatre ; on its farther side were two small 
tents, and a man in a folding-chair reading 
the Australasian. He closed the paper on 
meeting Vanheimert's eyes, went to the 
farther tent, stood a moment looking in, 
and then came across the sunlit circle with 
the newspaper in one hand and the folded 
chair in the other. 

" And how do you feel now ? " said he, 
setting up the chair beside the blanket, but 
stil) standing, as he surveyed the prostrate 
man with dark eyes drawn together in the 
shade of a great straw sombrero. 

" Fine ! " replied Vanheimert, huskily. 
" But where am I, and who are you chaps ? 
Rabbiters ? " 

As he spoke, however, he searched for the 
inevitable strings of rabbit-skins festooned 
about the tents, and found them not. 

" If you like," replied the other, frowning 

a little at the immediate curiosity of the 
rescued man. 

" I don't like," said Vanheimert, staring 
unabashed. " I'm a rabbiter myself and 
know too much. It ain't no game for aban- 
doned stations, and you don't go playin' it in 
top-boots and spurs. Where's your skins and 
where's your squatter to pay for 'em ? Plucky 
rabbiters, you two." 

And he gazed across the open towards the 
farther tent, which had just disgorged a long 
body and a black beard not wholly unfamiliar 
to Vanheimert. The dark man was a shade 
darker as he followed the look and read its 
partial recognition; but a grim light came 
with quick resolve, and it was with sardonic 
deliberation that an eye-glass was screwed 
into one dark eye. 

" Then what should you say that we are ? " 

" How do I know ? " cried Vanheimert, 
turning pale; for he had been one of the 
audience at Mrs. Clarkson's concert in 
Gulland's store, and in consecutive moments 
he had recognised first Howie and now 

" You know well enough ! " 

And the terrible eye-glass covered him like 
a pistol. 

" Perhaps I can guess," faltered Vanhei- 
mert, no small brain working in his prodigious 

" Guess, then ! " 

"There are tales about a new chum 
camping by himself — that is, just with one 
man " 

" And what object ? " 

" To get away from the world, sir." 

" And where did you hear these tales ? " 

" All along the road, sir." 

The chastened tone, the anxious counten- 
ance, the sudden recourse to the servile 
monosyllable, were none of them lost on 
Stingaree ; but he had once set such a tale 
abroad, and it might be that the present 
bearer still believed it. The eye-glass looked 
him through and through. Vanheimert bore 
the inspection like a man, and was soon 
satisfied that his recognition of the outlaw 
was as yet quite unsuspected. He congratu- 
lated himself on his presence of mind, and 
had sufficient courage to relish the excite- 
ment of a situation of which he also per- 
ceived the peril. 

"I suppose you have no recollection of 
how you got here ? " at length said Stingaree. 

"Not me. I only remember the dust- 
storm." And Vanheimert shuddered where 
he lay in the «lui. u But I'm very grateful 
to yoiij sir, for savfns; my life," 



** You are, are you ? " 

" Haven't I cause to be, sir ?" 

" Well, I dare say we did bring you round 
between us, but it was pure luck that we ever 
came across you. And now I should lie 
quiet if I were you. In a few minutes there'll 
be a pannikin of tea for you, and after that 
you'll feel a different man-" 

Vanheimert lay quiet enough ; there was 
much to occupy 
his mind. In 
stinctively he had 
assumed a part, 
and he was only 
less quick to em- 
brace the neces- 
sity of a perfectly 
consistent per- 
formance. He 
watched Stingaree 
in close conversa- 
tion with Howie, 
who was boiling 
the billy on a 
spirit - lamp be- 
tween the two 
tents, but he 
watched them 
with an admirable 
simulation of idle 
unconcern. They 
were talking about 
him, of course ; 
more than once 
they glanced in 
his direction ; and 
each time Van- 
heimert congratu- 
lated himself the 
more heartily on 
the ready pretence 
to which he was 
committed, I,et 
them but dream 
that he knew them 
and Vanheimert 
gave himself as 
short a shrift as 
he , would have 
granted in their 

place. But they did not dream it, they were 
off their guard, and rather at his mercy than he 
at theirs* He might prove the immediate 
instrument of their capture— why not ? The 
thought put Vanheimert in a glow ; on the 
blanket where they had laid him he dwelt on 
it without a qualm ; and the same wide 
mouth watered for the tea which these villains 
were making and for their blood. 

It was Howie who came over with the 
steaming pannikin and w T atched Vanheimert 
as he sipped and smacked his lips, while 
Stingaree at his distance watched them both. 
The pannikin was accompanied by a tin 
plateful of cold mutton and a wedge of 
baking-powder bread, which between them 
prevented the ravening man from observing 
how closely he was himself observed as he 


assuaged his 
pangs. There 
was, however, 
something in the 
nature of a mut- 
tered altercation 
between the bushrangers 
when Howie was sent 
back for more of every- 
thing. Vanheimert put 
it down to his own demands, and felt that 
Stingaree was his friend when it was he who 
brought the fresh supplies, 

" Eat away," said Stingaree, seating him- 
self on the camp-stool and producing pipe 
and tobacco* u It's rough fare, but there's 
plenty of it." 

"I wont ask you for no more," replied 
Vanheimert, paving t^^ft* his escape 



" Oh, yes, you will ! " said Stingaree. 
" You're going to camp with us for the next 
few days, my friend ! " 

" Why am I ? " cried Vanheimert, aghast 
at the quiet statement, which it never occurred 
to him to gainsay. Stingaree pared a pipeful 
of tobacco and rubbed it fine before troub- 
ling to reply. 

" Because the way out of this takes some 
finding, and what's the use of escaping an 
unpleasant death one day if you go and 
die the next? That's one reason," said 
Stingaree ; " but there's another. The other 
reason is that, now you're here, you don't go 
till I choose." 

Blue wreaths of smoke went up with the 
words, which might have phrased either a 
humorous hospitality or a covert threat. 
The dispassionate tone told nothing. But 
Vanheimert felt the eye-glass on him, and 
his hearty appetite was at an end. 

" That's real kind of you," said he. " I 
don't feel like running no more risks till I'm 
obliged. My nerves are shook ; and if a 
born back-blocker may make so bold, it's a 
fair old treat to see a new chum camping out 
for the fun of it ! " 

" Who told you I was a new chum ? " 
asked Stingaree, sharply. " Ah ! I remem- 
ber," he added, nodding ; " you heard of me 
lower down the road." 

Vanheimert grinned from ear to ear. 

" I'd have known it without that," said he. 
"What real bushmen would boil their billy 
on a spirit-lamp when there's wood and to 
spare for a camp-fire on all sides of 'em ? " 

Now, Vanheimert clearly perceived the 
superiority of smokeless spirit-lamp to tell- 
tale fire from the point of view of those in 
hiding ; so he chuckled consumedly over 
this thrust, which was taken in such excellent 
part by Stingaree as to prove him a victim to 
the desired illusion. It was the cleverest 
touch that Vanheimert had yet achieved. 
And he had the wit neither to blunt his 
point by rubbing it in nor to recall attention 
to it by subtle protestation of his pretended 
persuasion. But once or twice before sun- 
down he permitted himself to ask natural 
questions concerning the old country, and 
to indulge in those quiet gibes which the 
Englishman in the bush learns to expect 
from the indigenous buffoon. 

In the night Vanheimert was less easy. 
He had to sleep in Howie's tent, but it was 
some hours before he slept at all, for Howie 
would remain outside, and Vanheimert longed 
to hear him snore. At last he fell into a 
doze, and when he woke the auspicious music 

filled the tent. He listened on one elbow, 
peering till the darkness turned less dense; 
and there lay Howie across the opening of 
the tent. Vanheimert reached for his thin, 
elastic-sided bushman's boots, and his hands 
trembled as he drew them on. He could 
now see the form of Howie plainly enough as 
it lay half in the starlight and half in the 
darkness of the tent. He stepped over it 
without mistake, and the deep diapason went 
on behind him. 

The stars seemed unnaturally bright and 
busy as Vanheimert stole into their tremulous 
light. At first he could distinguish nothing 
earthly ; then the tents came sharply into 
focus, and after them the ring of impenetrable 
trees. The trees whispered a chorus, myriads 
strong, in a chromatic scale that sang but 
faintly of the open country. There were 
palpable miles of wilderness, and none other 
lodge but this, yet the psychological necessity 
for escape was stronger in Vanheimert than 
the bodily reluctance to leave the insecure 
security of the bushrangers' encampment. 
He was their prisoner, whatever they might 
say, and the sense of captivity was intolerable ; 
besides, let them but surprise his knowledge 
of their secret, and they would shoot him like 
a dog. On the other hand, beyond the forest 
and along the beaten track lay fame and a 
small fortune in direct reward. 

Before departure Vanheimert wished to 
peep into the other tent, but its open end was 
completely covered in for the night, and pru- 
dence forbade him to meddle with his hands. 
He had an even keener desire to steal one or 
other of the horses which he had seen before 
nightfall tethered in the scrub ; but here again 
he lacked enterprise, fancied the saddles must 
be in Stingaree's tent, and shrank from com- 
mitting himself to an action which nothing, 
in the event of disaster, could explain away. 
On foot he need not put himself in the wrong, 
even with villains ready to suspect that he 
suspected them. 

And on foot he went — indeed, on tip-toe till 
the edge of the trees was reached without 
adventure, and he turned to look his last upon 
the two tents shimmering in the starlight. As 
he turned again, satisfied that the one was 
still shut and that Howie still lay across the 
opening of the other, a firm hand took 
Vanheimert by either shoulder, otherwise he 
had leapt into the air ; for it was Stingaree, 
who had stepped from behind a bush as 
from another planet, >$o suddenly that Van- 
heimert nearly gasped his dreadful name. 

" I couldn't sleep ! I couldn't sleep ! " he 
cried out; iiiswsad., shrinking as from a lifted 



hand* though he was merely being shaken 
playfully to and fro. 

"No more could I," said Stingaree. 

" So I was going for a stroll That was 
all, I swear, Mr. — Mr, — I don't know your 
mine ! " 

"Quite sure?" 
said Stingaree. 

"My oath! 
How should I ? " 

" You might 
have heard it 
down the road," 

" Not me 1 " 

"Yet you 
heard of me, you 

" Not by name 
— my oath ! " 

peered into the 
great face, in 
which the teeth 
were chattering 
and from which 
all trace of colour 
had flown. 

" I shouldn't 
eat you for know- 
ing who I am," 
said he, " Hon- 
esty is still a wise 
policy in certain 
but you know 

" I know no- 
thing about you, 
and care less," 
retorted Van- 
heimert, sullenly, 
though the per- 
spiration was 
welling out of 
him. "I come for 
a stroll because I 
couldn't sleep, 
and I can't see 
what all this 
barney's about." 

Stingaree dropped his 

** Do you want to sleep ? " 

" My blessed oath ! " 

" Then come to my tent, and 111 give you 
a nobbier that may make you." 

The nobbier was poured out of a gallon 
jar, under Vanheimert's nose, by the light of 
a candle which he held himself. Yet he 

smelt it furtively before trying it with his 
lips, and denied himself a gulp till he was 
reassured. But soon the empty pannikin 
was held out for more. And it was the 
starless hour before dawn when Vanheimert 

tripped over 
Howie's legs and 
took a contented 
header into the 
corner from 
which he had 
made his stealthy 

The tent was 
tropkal when he 
awoke, but Stin- 
garee was still at 
his breakfast out- 
side in the shade. 
He pointed to a 
bucket and a 
piece of soap be- 
hind the tent, 
and Vanheimert 
engaged in obe- 
dient ablutions 
before sitting 
down to his pan- 
nikin, his slice of 
damper, and his 
portion of a tin 
of sardines. 

" Sorry there's 
no meat for you," 
said Stingaree. 
"My mate's gone 
for fresh supplies. 
By the way, did 
you miss your 

looked at a pair 
of dilapidated 
worsted socks 
and at one pro- 
truding toe ; he 
was not sure 
whether he had 
gone to bed for 
the second time 
in these or in his 
boots. Certainly 
he had missed 


the latter on his 
second awakening, but had not deemed it ex- 
pedient to make inquiries, and he now merely 
said that he wondered where he could have 
left them, 

" On your f«st'' ^ Stingaree. " My mate 




has made so bold as to borrow them for the 

" He's welcome to them, I'm sure," said 
Vanheimert, with a sickly smile. 

" I was sure you would say so," rejoined 
Stingaree. " His own are reduced to uppers 
and half a heel apiece, but he hopes to get 
them soled in Ivanhoe while he waits." 

" So he's gone to Ivanhoe, has he ? " 

" He's been gone three hours." 

" Surely it's a long trip ? " 

" Yes ; we shall have to make the most 
jf each other till sundown," said Stingaree, 
gazing through his glass upon Vanheimert's 
perplexity. " If I were you I should take 
my revenge by bagging anything of his that 
I could find for the day." 

And with a cavalier nod, as though that 
were the last word on the subject, the bush- 
ranger gave himself over to his camp-chair, 
his pipe, and his inexhaustible Australasian. 
As for Vanheimert, he eventually returned to 
the tent in which he had spent the night, and 
there he remained a good many minutes, 
though it was now the forenoon, and the heat 
under canvas already intense. But when at 
length he emerged, Stingaree, seated behind 
his Australasian in the lee of the other tent, 
took so little notice of him that Vanheimert 
crept back to have one more look at the thing 
which he had found in the old valise which 
served Howie for a pillow. And the thing 
was a very workmanlike revolver, with a 
heavy cartridge in each of its six chambers. 

Vanheimert handled it with trembling 
fingers, and packed it afresh in the pocket 
where it least affected his personal contour, 
its angles softened by a big bandana handker- 
chief, only to take it out yet again with a 
resolution that made his face stream in the 
heated tent. The blanket that had been 
lent to him, and Howie's blanket, both lay at 
his feet ; he threw one over either arm, and 
with the revolver thus effectually concealed, 
but grasped for action with finger on trigger, 
sallied forth at last. 

Stingaree was still seated in the narrowing 
shade of his own tent. Vanheimert was 
within five paces of him before he looked up 
so very quickly, with such a rapid adjustment 
of the terrible eye-glass, that Vanheimert 
stood stock-still, and the butt of his hidden 
weapon turned colder than ever in his melt- 
ing hand. 

" Why, what have you got there ? " cried 
Stingaree. " And what's the matter with 
you, man?" he added, as Vanheimert stood 
shaking in his socks. 

"Only his blankets, to camp on," the 

fellow answered, hoarsely. " You advised me 
to help myself, you know." 

" Quite right ; so I did ; but you're as white 
as the tent — you tremble like a leaf. What's 
wrong ? " 

" My head," replied Vanheimert, in a 
whine. " It's going round and round, either 
from what I had in the night, or lying too 
long in the hot tent, or one on top of the 
other. I thought Fd camp for a bit in the 

"I should," said Stingaree, and buried 
himself in his paper with undisguised 

Vanheimert came a step nearer. Stingaree 
did not look up again. The revolver was 
levelled under one trailing blanket But the 
trigger was never pulled. Vanheimert feared 
to miss even at arm's length, so palsied was 
his hand, so dim his eye ; and when he would, 
have played the man and called desperately 
on the other to surrender, the very tongue 
clove in his head. 

He slunk over to the shady margin of sur- 
rounding scrub and lay aloof all the morning, 
now fingering the weapon in his pocket, now 
watching the man who never once looked his 
way. He was a bushranger and an outlaw ; 
he deserved to die or to be taken ; and Van- 
heimert's only regret was that he had neither 
taken nor shot him at their last interview. 
The bloodless alternative was to be borne in 
mind, yet in his heart he well knew that the 
bullet was his one chance with Stingaree. And 
even with the bullet he was horribly uncertain 
and afraid. But of hesitation on any higher 
ground, of remorse or of reluctance, or the 
desire to give fair play, he had none at all. 
The man whom he had stupidly spared so- far 
was a notorious criminal with a high price 
upon his head. It weighed not a grain with 
Vanheimert that the criminal happened to 
have saved his life. 

" Come and eat," shouted Stingaree at last; 
and Vanheimert trailed the blankets over his 
left arm, his right thrust idly into his 
pocket, which bulged with a red bandana 
handkerchief. "Sorry it's sardines again," 
the bushranger went on, " but we shall make 
up with a square feed to-night if my mate 
gets back by dark ; if he doesn't, we may 
have to tighten our belts till morning. For- 
tunately, there's plenty to drink. Have some 
whisky in your tea ? " 

Vanheimert nodded, and with an eye on 
the bushranger, who was once more stooping 
over his beloved Australasian^ helped him- 
self enormously from the gallon jar. 

" And now lor a sieuu," yawned Stingaree, 



rising and stretching himself after the 

11 Hear, hear ! " croaked Vanheimert, his 
great face flushed, his bloodshot eyes on 

"I shall camp on the shady side of my 

/'And IH do 
ditto at the 

"So long, 

" So long/' 

* 'Sweet repose 
to you ! " 

"Same to 
you/ 1 rasped 
Vanheimert, and 
went off cursing 
and chuckling in 
his heart by 

It was a swel- 
tering afternoon 
of little air, and 
that little as hot 
and dry in the 
nostrils as the 
atmosphere of a 
laundry on iron- 
ing day, Beyond 
and above the 
trees a fiery blast 
blew from the 
north ; but it was 
seldom ft wander- 
ing puff stooped 
to flutter the 
edges of the 
tents in the little 
hollow among 
the trees. And 
into this empty 
basin poured a 
vertical sun, as 
if through some 
giant lens which 
had burnt a 
hole in the heart of the scrub. Lulled 
by the faint perpetual murmur of leaf and 
branch, without a sound from bird or 
beast to break its soothing monotone, the 
two men lay down within a few yards, though 
out of sight, of each other- And for a time 
at! was very still. 

Then Vanheimert rose slowly, without a 
sound, and came on. tip toe to the other tent, 
his right hand in the pocket where the 
bandana handkerchief had been, but was no 

the: hkvoi vek ivas lkvrllkp under one 


VoL a* ix, —17. 

by C^OOgle 

longer. He came close up to the sunny side 
of the tent and listened vainly for a sound, 
But Stingaree lay like a log in the shade on 
the farther side, his face to the canvas and 
his straw sombrero tilted over it. And so 
Vanheimert found him, breathing with the 

placid regularity 
of a sleeping 

looked about 
him ; only the 
ring of impene- 
trable trees and 
the deep blue eye 
of Heaven would 
really see what 
happened. But 
as to what exactly 
was to happen 
Vanhuimert him- 
self was not clear 
as he drew the 
revolver ready- 
cocked ; even he 
shrank from 
shooting a sleep- 
ing man ; what 
he desired and 
yet feared was a 
sudden start, a 
semblance of re- 
sistance, a swift, 
justifiable shot 
And as his mind's 
eve measured the dead 
mat! at his feet, the live 
man turned slowly over 
on his back. 
It was too much for Van- 
heimert's nerves. The revolver 
went off" in his hands. But it was 
only a cap that snapped, and 
another, and another, as he 
stepped back firing desperately. 
Stingaree sat upright, looking hi.> 
treacherous enemy in the eye, 
through the glass in which it 
seemed he slept. And when the sixth cap 
snapped as harmlessly as the other five, 
Vanheimert caught the revolver by its barrel 
to throw or to strike. But the raised arm 
was seized from behind by Howie, who had 
crept from the scrub at the snapping of the 
first cap; at the same moment Stingaree 
sprang upon him ; and in less than a minute 
Vanheimert lay powerless, grinding his teeth, 
foaming and bleeding at the mouth, and filling 
the air with nameless imprecations. 
Original from 


1 3° 


KTltfCAftKC EPftAf£G pmN H\\\ 

The bushrangers 
let him curse ; not a 
word did they bandy 
with him or with each 
other, Their action 
was silent, swift, con- 
certed, prearranged. 
They lashed their 
prisoners wrists to- 
gether lashed his 
elbows to his ribs, 
hobbled his ankles, 
and tethered him to a 
tree by the longest 
and the stoutest of 
their many ropes. 
The tree was the one 
under which Van- 
heimert had found 
himself the day be- 
fore; in the afternoon 

it was exjxised to the full fury of the 
sun ; and in the sun they left him, quieter 
already, but not so quiet as they. It was 
near sundown when they returned to look 
upon a broken man. crouching in his toils 
like a beaten beast, with undying malice in 
his swollen eyes. And Stingaree sat at his 
prisoner's feet, offering him tobacco without 
a sneer, and lighting his own when his 
offer was declined with a curse. 

u When we came upon you yesterday 
morning in the storm, one of us was for 
leaving you to die in your tracks/ 1 began 
Stingaree. He was immediately interrupted 
by his mate. 

" That was me 3 " cried Howie, with a 
savage satisfaction. 

Digitized by Google 

14 It doesn't matter which 
of us it was," continued 
Stingaree; "the other 
talked him over; we put 
you on one of our horses, 
and we brought you more 
dead than alive to the 
place which no other man 
has seen since we took 
a fancy to it. We saved 
your miserable life, I wont 
say at the risk of our own, 
but at risk enough even if 
you had not recognised 
us. We were going to see 
you through, whether you 
knew us or not \ before 
this we should have set 
you on the road from 
which you had strayed. 
I thought you must know 
us at sight, but when you 
denied it I saw no reason 
to disbelieve you. It only 
dawned on me by degrees 
that you were lying, though 
Howie here was sure of it 
all along. I couldn't make 
out your game ; if it was 
funk I could have under- 
stood it ; so I tried to get 
you to own up in the night. 
I let you see that we didn't 
mind whether you knew 
us or not, and yet you 
persisted in your lie. So 
then I smelt something 
deeper* But we had gone 
out of our way to save 
your life. I couldn't be- 
lieve that you would go out 
of your way to take ours ! " 
Stingaree paused, smoking his pipe. 
" But I could 1 ?> cried Howie, 
"I never meant taking your lives," muttered 
Vanheimert " I meant taking you— as you 

u We scarcely deserved it of you ; but that 
is a matter of opinion. As for taking us 
alive, no doubt you would have preferred to 
do so if it had seemed equally safe and easy ; 
you had not the pluck to take a single risk. 
You were given every chance* I sent Howie 
into the scrub, took the powder out of six 
cartridges, and put what anybody would have 
taken for a loaded revolver all but into your 
hands, I sat at your mercy, really longing 
for the sensation of being stuck up for a 
change. If you had stuck me up like a 




man/' said Stingaree, reflectively examining 
his \n\K, il you might have lived to tell the 

There was an interval of the faint, 
persistent rustling of branch and leaf, varied 
by the screech of a distant cockatoo and 
the nearer cry o\ a crow, as the dusk 
deepened into night as expeditiously as on 
the stage. Vanheimert was not awed by the 
quiet voice to which he had been listening. 
It lacked the note of violence which he 
understood ; it even lulled him into a belief 
that he would still live to tell the tale. But 
in the dying light he looked up, and in the 
fierce, unrelenting face, made the more 
sinister by its foppish furniture, he read his 

" You tried to shoot me in my sleep," said 
Stingaree, speaking slowly, with intense 
articulation. u That's your gratitude ! You 
will live just long enough to wish that you 
had shot yourself instead I " 

Stingaree rose, 

" You may as well shoot me now ! " cried 
Vanheimert, with a husky effort, 

"Shoot you ! I'm not going to shoot you 

you when it will be, It may be to-morrow — 
I don't think it will — but you may number 
your days on the fingers of both hands," 

So saying, Stingaree turned on his heel, 
and was lost to sight in the shades of evening 
before he reached bis tent. But Howie 
remained on duty with the condemned 

As such Vanheimert was treated from the 
first hour of his captivity. Not a rough word 
was said to him ; and his own unbridled out- 
bursts were received with as much indif- 
ference as the abject prayers and supplica- 
tions which were their regular reaction. The 
ebbing life was ordered on that principle of 
high humanity which might be the last 
refinement of calculated cruelty. The pri- 
soner was so tethered to such a tree that it 
was no longer necessary for him to spend a 
"moment in the red eye of the sun. He could 
follow a sufficient shade from dawn to dusk. 
His boots were restored to him ; a blanket 
was permitted him day and night ; but night 
and day he was sedulously watched, and 
neither knife nor fork was provided with his 
meals. His fare was relatively not inferior 

WATCH M>/ h 

at all ; shooting's too good for scum like you. 
But you are to die—make no mistake about 
that. And soon ; but not to-night That 
would not be fair on you, for reasons which I 
leave to your imagination. You will lie where 
you are to-night; and you will be watched 
and fed like your superiors in the condemned 
cell- The only difference is that I can't tell 

by LiOOgle 

to that of the legally condemned, whose 
notorious privileges and restrictions served 
the bushrangers for a model. 

And Vanheimert clung to the hope of a 
reprieve with all the sanguine tenacity of his 
ill-starred class, though it did seem with more 
encouragement as a whole. For the days 
went on, and each of many mornings brought 




its own respite till the next. The welcome 
announcement was invariably made by 
Howie after a colloquy with his chief, which 
Vanheimert watched with breathless interest 
for a day or two, but thereafter with increas- 
ing coolness. They were trying to frighten 
him ; they did not mean it, any more than 
Stingaree had meant to shoot the young man 
who had the temerity to put a pistol to his 
head after the affair of the Glenranald bank. 
The case of lucky Fergus, justly celebrated 
throughout the colony, was a great comfort 
to Vanheimert's mind ; he could see but 
little difference between the two ; but if his 
treachery was the greater, so also was the 
ordeal to which he was being subjected. In 
the light of a mere ordeal he soon regarded 
what he was invited to consider as his last 
days on earth, and in the conviction that 
they were not, began suddenly to bear 
them like a man. This change of front pro- 
duced its fellow in Stingaree, who apologized 
to Vanheimert for the delay, which he vowed 
he could not help. Vanheimert was a little 
shaken by his manner, though he smiled 
behind the bushranger's back. And he could 
scarcely believe his ears when, the very next 
morning, Howie told him that his hour was 

" Rot ! " said Vanheimert, with a confident 

" Oh, all right," said Howie. " But if you 
don't believe me, I'm sorrier for you than I 

He slouched away, but Vanheimert had no 
stomach for the tea and damper which had 
been left behind. It was unusual for him 
to be suffered to take a meal unwatched ; 
something unusual was in the air. Stingaree 
emerged from the scrub leading the two 
horses. Vanheimert began to figure the fate 
that might be in store for him. And the 
horses, saddled and bridled before his eyes, 
were led over to where he sat. 

" Are you going to shoot me before you 
go," he cried, " or are you going to leave me 
to die alone?" 

" Neither here," said Stingaree. " We're 
too fond of the camp." 

It was his first brutal speech, but the 
brutality was too subtle for Vanheimert. He 

began to believe that something dreadful 
might happen to him after all. The pinions 
were removed from his arms and legs, the 
long rope detached from the tree and made 
fast to one of Stingaree's stirrups instead 
And by it Vanheimert was led a long mile 
through the scrub, with Howie at his heels. 

A red sun had risen on the camp, but in 
the scrub it ceased to shine, and the first 
open space was as sunless as the dense bush. 
Spires of sand kept whirling from earth to sky, 
joining other spinning spires, forming a 
monster balloon of yellow sand, a balloon 
that swelled until it burst, obscuring first the 
firmament and then the earth. But the mind 
of Vanheimert was so busy with the fate he 
feared that he did not realize that he was in 
another dust-atorm until Stingaree, at the end 
of the rope, was swallowed like a tug in a fog. 
And even then Vanheimert's peculiar terror 
of a dust-storm did not link itself to the fear 
of sudden death which had at last been put 
into him. But the moment of mental 
enlightenment was at hand. 

The rope trailed on the ground as Stingaree 
loomed large and yellow through the storm. 
He had dropped his end. Vanheimert 
glanced over his shoulder, and Howie 
loomed large and yellow behind him. 

" You will now perceive the reason for so 
many days' delay," said Stingaree. " I have 
been waiting for such a dust-storm as the one 
from which we saved you to be rewarded as 
you endeavoured to reward me. You might, 
perhaps, have preferred me to make shorter 
work of you, but on consideration you will 
see that this is not only just but generous. 
The chances are all against you, and all in 
favour of a more unpleasant death ; but it is 
just possible that the storm may pass before 
it finishes you, and that you may then hit the 
fence before you die of thirst, and at the 
worst we leave you no worse off than we 
found you. And that, I hold, is more than 
you had any right to expect. So long I " 

The thickening storm had swallowed man 
and horse once more. Vanheimert looked 
round. The second man and the second 
horse had also vanished. And his own 
tracks were being obliterated as fast as foot- 
marks in blinding snow. 

by Google 

Original from 

Odd Pictures by Famous Artists. 

By Ronald Graham. 

N the December number of The 
Strand Magazine there were 
shown a couple of fashion- 
plates executed by artists who 
afterwards achieved world-wide 
renown, the one — Meissonier 
— as a painter, the other — " Phiz " — as a 
delineator of life and manners. If the 
whole truth of any celebrated artist's life 
could be known and all his fugitive and 
irregular productions 
given to the world it 
would perhaps occa- 
sion much astonish- 
ment — it would cer- 
tainly prove to many 
a source of entertain- 
ment. A successful 
career s as the lute Mr. 
Val Prinsep, R.A., 
once remarked to the 
writer, is "a sum of 
zigzags/' and very few 
great men arrive at 
their goal without 
numerous experi- 
ments and adven- 
tures. In his youth 
Romney painted ale- 
house sign - boards, 
Gainsborough was an 
indifferent engraver's apprentice, Benjamin 
West coloured children's alphabets. 

Recognising, then, the interest which 
naturally attaches to the productions of an 
artist which exhibit him in a character in 
which he is wholly unfamiliar to the world at 
large, the present writer has been at some 
pains to drag forth out of oblivion a dozen 
or so examples of work which, whatever 
their artistic merits, often tell eloquently one 
phase of their maker's story* Let us begin 
with the little woodcuts wrought by the 


5 " 1 



* ni*p z* -* ^ 





v s *P.St i 

I* «* 

*S msv^ 

' . «u*« 


youthful Gainsborough, the original blocks 
of which are believed to be in existence, 
tf In Gainsborough's lifetime," wrote a corre- 
spondent to Leigh Hunt, "Thicknesse had 
a collection of seven or eight woodcuts 
mounted in a small portfolio. They were 
extremely small, and struck me as being of 
a very rude character when compared with 
BewicL When I had examined them and 
inquired for what purpose they, were kept, he 

informed me that they 
had been cut by the 
celebrated Mr. Gains- 
borough, when ap- 
prentice to Mr. Gra- 
velot, the engraver, 
and that they had seen 
the light in various 
publications by old 
Caw and Hayman. 
One or two I dis- 
tinctly remember hav- 
ing seen, I think, in 
the Gentleman 7 $ 
Magazine — an an- 
c ient ba t te ri ng - r am , 
with the ram's head 
shown very clearly, 
and the stem part 
of a Scriptural 
From this description there can be no 
doubt that these are the two blocks which 
figure in the Geni/eman's Magazine in May 
and July, 1743* The design of one— that of 
the battering-ram, here reproduced — appears 
to have been borrowed from a steel plate by 
V i 1 1 ene u ve. At t h i s t i m e y ou ng Gai nsborough 
had been a year in London as an apprentice 
to Gravelot, and, being a particularly clever 
lad, was doubtless permitted to try his hand 
upon many of the smallest cuts which fell to 
his employer's lot. 

■..AI--.-1 ....:■■',..:.! l WHEN A WOOO- 

* U it , ■ Wi Ikiim ^bwfrt. few *i-.r "■!***« ™. — " ' ut m ti 1^.fc*^— ] 

bt & l** f ctawi ««N h4| ^'A-t *- ****** hlWi 


wnqiriai num 





Almost rivalling these in interest is the 
broadside relating to English Coronation 
processions, done by George Romney soon 
after the accession of George III., for 
which the artist received the munificent sum 
of thirty shillings. According to one writer, 
this cartoon was done at the suggestion of a 
friend and correspondent of Joseph Cave, 
the bookseller, and brother of Dr, Johnson's 
patron. It merely represents a large number 
of male and female figures, apparelled in 
Court costume and in the act of walking, 
each group according to their rank. The 
whole detail for the drawing was said to 
be furnished by a nobleman who was an 

coiffeur; and his successor, Sir Benjamin 
West, toiled laboriously for several days, we 
are told, at a sort of contour map of Italy, 
for what purpose it would be difficult to say. 
But these appear to have vanished, and our 
next pictorial example is drawn from the 
works of the illustrious J. M. W. Turner, R.A. 
Few people nowadays can conceive of this 
great painter as being a fit and proper person 
to receive a commission from a soap-boiler 
to draw the interior of a soap factory. But 
we must remember that Turner was not then 
great, that he was only the talented son of 
a barber in Maiden hinc, Strand; we might 
even recall, besides, what an important part 


Bf permiMM&N »f Mr. T. J. Barrett 

authority on such matters, and, indeed, the 
drawing itself was done from rough pencil 
sketches. It was engraved in London and 
issued as a separate sheet, plain and 
coloured, eight by twelve inches, by I). 
Henry j bookseller, St. John's Gate. The 
sole authority for the remuneration Romney 
received is in the form of a receipt whirh 
turned up at Sotheby's many years ago : 
" Received from D. Henry, St. John's Gate, 
thirty shillings for sketch of Coronation pro- 
cession. — G. Romney." 

Of course, there exist similar relics in pro- 
fusion. Sir Joshua Reynolds is said to have 
drawn a set of outline heads for a ladies' 

Digitized by GoOQk 

soap-making has played in the annals of later 
nineteenth century art. These drawings of 
Turner's, first identified by the late Charles 
Green, R.L, may be regarded as the fore- 
runners of such pictures as "Bubbles/' and 
countless others of lesser note. No one who 
sees them can doubt their authenticity ; they 
bear the master's hall-mark in drawing and 
colouring, and one can only wonder at 
Turner's feelings as he plodded along, doubt- 
less for a few shillings, at such uncongenial 
employment. It may be mentioned that the 
factory, of which this represents the interior, 
was only a stoneVthrow from Turner's shop 

and the present offices pi this Magazine* 
1 Original from ° 






careful draughtsman who afterwards became 
celebrated as a port ray er of men and animals, 
Philip Calderon, R,A., was another artist who 
went in for diagrams in his youth, one of his 
illustrations to Dr, Dionysius Lardner'4 trea- 
tises, published in 1851, being here appended. 


Few people are perchance aware that some 
twenty careful drawings of fortifications and 
other military engineering works by James 
McNeill Whistler arc preserved at West Point, 
at which academy young Whistler was a student 

at the very moment Calderon and Marks were 
exciting the chemical world by their master- 
ful draughtsmanship. " What an astonish- 
ing amount of perspective we knew in those 
days, Calderon ! TJ sighed Stacy Marks once, 
when they compared notes of their early 
pictorial career 

John I^eech— " incomparable John Leech," 
as Thackeray called him — was another of 
the brilliant band of the mid-century who 
occasionally wandered off into formal and 
technical paths. The present Duke of 
Devonshire possesses a drawing by Leech of 
the Crystal Palace, executed as a seal for the 
Great Exhibition of 185 1. 

Under date of April 14, 1852, the Duke's 
ancestor wrote to the artist : " Dear Sir, — 
In these critical days of the Crystal Palace 
let me request your acceptance of the seal, 
for which you gave me the idea* And that 
you may not have any feeling that you are 
depriving me of it* I must tell you that I 
have another. — Believe me most sincerely 
yours, Devonshire." The drawing which 
Leech made is a careful view of the Palace with 
its myriad panes of glass, and below it, in the 
manner of a lever, is a spade, in allusion to 
the architect. Pax ton having been a gardener. 







One of the last men one would associate 
with technical draughtsmanship, too, is the 
talented Caran d'Ache, 
yet all who enjoy the 
privilege of acquaintance- 
ship with M, Poir<§ know 
that when he first went 
to Paris he was very glad 
to turn an honest penny 
by doing staid woodcuts 
for the Ijevy Frirres and 
other firms who would 
employ him. One of 
these, a very vivid realiza- 
tion of the surface of the 
moon, is given above. 

Of the painters who 
have acquitted themselves more or less sur- 
reptitiously of trade -marks their name is 
legion. Ar- 
tists w e r e I TUI 
not wont to 
take pride 
in their con- 
nection with 
ments in the 
old days, 
and even 
w a s rather 
ashamed of 
having once 
made a 
wherein the 




merits of Warren's blacking were set before 
the world When the late George Smith, 
proprietor of the 
CornhilK launched the 
delectable Apollinaris 
water upon the market 
he was naturally anxious 
that it should bear an 
artistic label, by way of 
initial recommendation ; 
wherefore he summoned 
a bevy of rising men, such 
as George Du Maurier, 
Linley Sambourne, Matt 
Morgan, and Walter 
Crane, each of whom tried 
his hand on a design, 
Young Crane's was thought well of, but Du 
Manners presentation of an ideal fountain 

carried the 
day, and 
mav be seen 
on all 
bottles to 
this day. 
others, Fre- 
derick Wal- 
ker, A.R.A., 
drew up for 
his friend, 
Mr. Thor- 
1 e y , t h e 
of a patent 

by LiOOglC 





cattle food, the design which was 
subsequently adopted and is still 

That exotic and eccentric artist, 
the late Aubrey Beardsley, was, as 
many are aware, for some time in 
an architect's office, where he doubt- 
less acquired much of that extremely 
[Kiin staking technique which is so 
marked a feature of his later work, 
Several architectural drawings by 
him are extant, one of which — a 
view of Lincoln Cathedral we here 
present as an illustration of an un- 
familiar phase of Beards ley's life* 

Perhaps there is nothing which 


: "T^7^J5f^_ 


used to amuse the friends of the late 
Phil May more than the stories this 
gifted draughtsman used to tell of his 
early art: stir attempts. He was, in his 
own words, " ready to take on any- 
thing/ 1 and he used often to refer humor- 
ously to his "steam plough," executed 
for an Australian paper, as a triumph 
of " fine art."' It is only natural that. 
May's father being a civil engineer, he 
should not be utterly lost in technical 
draughtsmanship, however distasteful it 
might have been to him. A friend of 
his forwards us, too, a paper containing 
two drawings of agricultural appliances 
and machinery, which, although, as he 
says, there is no doubt about their 
being the work of Phil May, are ns 
utterly unlike the work for which he 
is known to the million as could well 
be imagined. 

Original from 

The Tornado Trap. 

By Frank Savile. 

ANSHAW straightened him- 
self, flung down his pick, and 
eyed the gash in the mountain 
side with deep disgust. 

The very rocks seemed to 
quiver utjder the stab of the 
merciless heat. The sky was steel blue, the 
parched earth cinder grey. Not a cloud 
gave promise of relief, save one dim ring of 
misty cirrus in the utmost east. The sur- 
roundings spoke of desolation only. The 
ditch was dry and silted for lack of a freshet ; 
the sluice -boxes mere tinder, with open, 
gaping seams. The one great pine that 
branched above his cabin stood out gallows- 
like, typical of decay, a wrecked splinter of 
the mighty forest in which it had once been 
king. Lone Tree Gulch was not belying its 
reputation. It stared out upon the hillside 
a ruin, a wanton insult to Nature from the 
hands of men long passed. 

The miner turned towards his cabin. As 
he turned he made an exclamation and 
shielded his eyes with his palm. A quarter 
of a mile away a horse and a rider picked a 
path from hollow to hollow across the Divide. 

The man muttered to himself, a half- 
petulant smile twitching his lips. He strolled 
on towards the cabin and leaned against the 
slabs, the smile and its perplexity broadening 
beneath his moustache. A gleam grew in 
his quiet grey eyes. 

The rider drew near. From a hundred 
yards away a handkerchief was fluttered. 
Fanshaw raised his hand very deliberately 
and signalled back. A minute later the 
horse paced slowly up and halted at his 
side. A girl looked down at him — a girl 
clad in a habit of dusky grey which 
melted into the ash-coloured background. 
Her sombrero shaded a face delicately 
tanned by sun and breeze, wherein deep 
brown eyes confronted Fanshaw defiantly. 
Adorable little curls tangled down to the 
level of her brows. And about her lips, too, 
there lingered a smile of greeting. 

For the space of seconds the two looked 
at each other silently. The girl was the first 
to speak. 

" Help me down, Jack/' she pleaded, drop- 
ping the reins upon the horse's neck. In her 
expression there was a tinge of wicked 
appeal — almost a challenge. 

Fanshaw drew up to her stirrup and stiffly 
extended an arm. 

by L^OOgle 

" Both ! " she cried, impatiently. 

Fanshaw brought up the other hand with 
the unbending grace of a semaphore. For 
an instant she hesitated. Then with incredible 
swiftness she dropped straight into his un- 
willing embrace. 

His eyes, which at first evaded her glance, 
were at last drawn unresistingly to meet it. 
As she read them she drew back, laughed 
happily, and clapped her gloved hands. 

" So you grudge a kiss — one single little 
kiss — to your fiancee, who has travelled five 
hundred miles by rail and a dozen on a 
hollow-backed, hired mustang to claim it ? " 
she demanded. 

Fanshaw searched his pockets slowly and 
produced a pipe. He began to fill it from a 
battered tin box. 

" I have no fiancee" he replied, solemnly, 
and lit a match. 

She shook her finger at him derisively. 

"Oh, but you have — you have!" she 
contradicted. " Eight months ago you asked 
for, and obtained, the hand and heart of 
Muriel, only child of the late James Ford, 
Carterville, Missouri. The engagement was 
openly announced in all the papers. The 
friends of all concerned congratulated them, 
saying that they knew from the very first that 
it was bound to come about. Is that a true 

" Yes," he admitted, puffing leisurely ; " but 
I released you." 

She shook her head firmly. 

44 No," she denied. " There was no 
release. You tried to get out of it, but I'm 
not the sort of girl to take the mitten without 
a struggle. I refused to be released — I froze 
on to my chance — and — and here I am ! " 

Fanshaw pulled himself together. 

" See here, dear," he began, quietly, " we 
have written and we have discussed already. 
I made my position plain ; I don't recede 
from it. You are a great heiress. I am a 
pauper, but with my sense of honour still 
intact. If by any chance this thing " — he 
swept his hand toward the ditch - gashed 
mountain side— 44 had turned up trumps — 
if it had restored to me even a part of what 
it first gave and then took back from me — if 
there had been some little equality between 
our social positions, I should have come back 
and " He hesitated. 

44 And " 

44 And asked ii-vou remained free." 



i \ i 

" You'll never find me that. I'm a captive 
— always bound to you, Jack, if you go on 
repulsing me to the worlds end.' 1 

He gave a little impatient jerk of the 

" It doesn't matter," he went on. " Lone 
Tree Mine is still a derelict, the lust lode has 
never reappeared, all the money made by the 
first workings 
has been swal- 
lowed up by the 
search for the 
cleavage, and I 
am only a miner, 
working my own 
property, which 
is worth — no- 
thing I" 

She nodded. 

" That quite 
neatly recapitu- 
lates your cir- 
cum stances, 
Jack, hut where 
do / come in ? n 

His only answer 
was one of his per- 
petual shrugs. She 
came closer to him. 

"Am I to under- 
stand that you 
hate me?" she 

He refused to 
meet her gaze. 

She laid her 
hand upon his 

" Swear that you 
don't love me, 
and I'll go away, 

She saw his 


Jack," she breathed, 
face whiten beneath the tan. 
She felt the quiver that pulsed through his 
body* Her hand crept up to his shoulder ; 
her fingers touched his temple, and resolutely 
turned his eyes to meet her glance. With 
a little laugh that was half a sigh she sat 
down upon the bench before the cabin door. 

u Pride, dear Jack ! " she said, reproach- 
fully. "Horrible, uglv, wicked, wicked 
pride ! * 

" Honour!" he answered, grimly. " Honour 
to the dead as well as to the living," 

She gave a little start. 

"To the dead?" she queried, quickly, 
"The dead?" 

He nodded. 

"I'm your guardian." 


by Google 

" When your father lay dying he —he had 
natural fears about you. He knew what a 
great heiress had to encounter. We spoke 

of it. That w F as before " 

" Before you gave your promise to me/' 
she interposed. 

He made a gesture of dissenL 
" It was to him my first promise was 

given. I swore 
that with my 
consent no for- f 
t u 11 e - h u n t e r 
should trade 
upon your inno- 
cence. And my 
word once given 
has never been 
broken yet" 

For a moment 
she was silent, 
watching him 
with a half-whim- 
sical, half- petu- 
lant expression. 
He no longer 
leaned against 
the slabs. He 
stood up with 
a straight back, 
squaring his 
shoulders as if 
to meet the attack 
of a cunning 

" So my father 
would have con- 
sidered you a for- 
tune-hunter ? " she 
asked, at last 
"It is what the 
world would call a man in my position who 
married a woman in yours," he said, stoutly. 
14 The world -the' world ! " she derided 
" So it Is the world that stands between us— 
orders you to slave out your days — wrecks 
my life — condemns'us both to misery?'' 

Once again he found no answer but a 
shrug. She leaned back upon the bench a 
little wearily. The shadows of disappoint- 
ment clouded into her eyes ; her hands lay 
listless in her lap. If Fanshaw had watched 
her he would have suffered in seeing the 
trembling of her lips, 

Yet the next moment she had jumped to 
her feet. 

"Very well, 1 ' she declared, with sudden 
briskness. "Then we are to be enemies. 
But make no mistake, Jack, I shall win 
eventually. Oh, yes, I shall win. When I 




set my mind to a thing — well, you'll see. 
But at the present moment my crying 
necessity is food. I'm too hungry for words. 
What have you got in this bundle of laths 
you call a cabin ? Bread, butter, cheese ? " 

He looked troubled. 

"We — we don't have such things," he 
summered. " There's some beans and some 
bacon, and — and I'm afraid that's all." 

She threw back her head and laughed 

" I'm afraid that's all ! " she mimicked. 
" As if that wasn't the ' all ' that I'm yearning 
for after these miles of cinder upon that — 
that antelope," she added, eyeing the broncho 
ungratefully as he sniffed the pastureless soil. 

" Come in, then," he invited, hospitably, 
waving his hand towards the cabin. 

She looked at it. 

" I've seen more elaborate pig-sties," she 
suggested, disdaining it with a very tilted nose. 

" It isn't worth making much of a 
structure," he explained. " As a rule, it has 
to be rebuilt at least three times a year." 

Her eyebrows lifted. 

44 Three times a year ? " she echoed, wonder- 
ingly, and he smiled. 

44 Hasn't the reputation of the Divide 
reached you ? " he asked. He lifted his 
hand and pointed up the canyon that cut the 
hills behind them. 

44 Way back there are the eternal snows," 
he said. 44 In the dry weather, after a long 
calm, a sudden draught sets in from the hot 
air to the cold — bluntly, a tornado. I get 
three or four every summer. Each time it 
sweeps up the gulch it takes my cabin with it." 

She looked at him with horror in her eyes. 

44 And you ? " she cried. 44 And you ? " 

He laughed. 

44 I'm all right. The little sand whorls 
which get up tell me when it's coming. Then 
I get into the cellar." 

44 The cellar?" she repeated. 4i What cellar?" 

He pointed to the bank of the ditch. 

Following the motion of his hand she dis- 
covered a zinc-covered flap in the midst of 
the brown expanse. It was sunk in the earth, 
levelled flush with the edging clay. 

She lifted her hands in dismay. 

44 Well, if I wanted a reason to hunt you 
out of this detestable place, there it lies," she 
protested. u That's quite enough, Jack. I'm 
going to run you away from here — I'm going 
to set my great mind to work upon the 
problem, and you'll be bested — absolutely 
and conclusively bested. But in the mean- 
time, as I continue to starve, what's the 
matter with that bacon and those beans ? : ' 

i py Google 

He smiled again and held open the door 
politely. With an air of unbending contempt 
towards her surroundings she stepped in. 

In spite of the simplicity of the cooking, 
for the next few minutes she watched with 
astonishment the deft handling of the frying- 
pan. The bacon sputtered appetizingly. 
The beans gave forth a savoury smell. She 
made admiring comments, and, when the 
repast was served, fell to upon it with fervour. 
Cook and guest alike displayed a very credit- 
able hunger, and finished the contents of the 
single dish to a bean. 

With a little sigh of satisfaction Muriel 
drew back her stool from the packing-case 
table. She took up the corn-cob pipe which 
Fanshaw had laid upon the shelf. 

44 Smoke ! " she commanded. 44 Then I 
can talk to you as one reasonable human 
being to another, Jack. My mistake was in 
arguing in a state of famine." 

He smiled again, but there was no sub- 
mission about the resolute set of his lips. 
He reached out his hand for the pipe, and 
commenced filling it. 

Suddenly a new sound broke the quiet — 
from outside. 

A rattle, as of innumerable pennies being 
shaken in a giant missionary-box, smote the 
cabin slabs. The roof of zinc stirred and 
wrenched at the nails. 

Fanshaw dropped his pipe. He leaped to 
his feet and darted through the doorway. 

The next instant he was back. His hand 
fell vigorously upon the girl's shoulder. 

44 Come ! " he shouted, fiercely. 44 Run — 
race for your life ! " 

She stumbled to her feet in astonishment. 
Before she could frame a question he was 
forcing her out into the open and across the 
sun-baked flat. 

For Muriel the next few seconds were a 
blur of confusion. She realized that the sky 
had disappeared behind a blanketing of 
cloud, that dust, pebbles, and all the endless 
litter of the deserted camp were flying in 
twisted, funnel-shaped whirls around her. 
She caught a glimpse of the startled horse 
galloping wildly across the ridge, and the 
next instant almost fell upon the zinc cover 
of the cellar door. 

Fanshaw stooped and heaved it up. With 
a swift motion he half lifted, half pushed 
her into the hole, slid down beside her, and 
let the panel fall to above his head with a clang. 

The uproar increased. The sand drifts 

hissed as they whirled by above them. With 

a drumming rattle the loose sluice-boxes 

were flung from side to side of the ditch as 

Original from 




they thundered past. Trestles could be 
heard cracking like matchwood ; boulders 
clanged together with deafening blows. A 
harsh metallic clatter, which drifted away and 
was lost in the general hubbub, told how the 
cabin roof was being swept into 
the gorge. A second later the 
crash of planking announced that 
the slab walls were in hot pursuit. 

Muriel clung 
to her compan- 
ion, trembling 
violently. Fan- 
shaw held her 
to him, soothing 
her as a mother 
might soothe a 
frightened child* 

'* It only lasts 
a minute or 
two," he assured 
her. " It'll be 
over before 
you've realized 
it. I've seen a 
dozen of them- — 
I've seen a score/* 

She hid her 
face in the lapel 
of his coat. 

"We shall be 
buried!" she 
wailed — *' buried 
alive ! * 

w Nonsense I " 
he answered, 
cheerily. " In 
another moment 
or two- *' 

A frightful crash —a splitting, rending sound 
— drowned his voice. It was followed by a 
thud that seemed to thunder upon their very 
heads. Half stunned, Fanshaw reeled against 
the clay wall, noting with astonished eyes 
that a crack in the wood and metal was 
letting a dim shaft of light into the 
cellar. And at the same moment the storm 
died down as if by magic Faintly and 
yet more faintly the echoes of its passing 
were swallowed by the distant valleys, while 
a moment later the deep after-silence was 
broken by the patter of torrential rain. 

Fanshaw pulled himself together and thrust 
his hand up against the door. 

It did not stir. 

He drove both his open palms against it ; 
he heaved his shoulders till his muscles 
seemed to crack. It was obstinately im- 

Digitized by Google 


The pangs of a sudden fear gripped him ; 
the sweat broke out upon his forehead. He 
brought his eyes against the crack in the 
panel and peered into the open. As he 
looked he swore — and then shivered. 

The great lone 
pine was down 
— was over them! 
The bulk of the 

rhuge butt was 
between him 
an d the sky, 
while the top 
litter and the 
branches he 
knew by its 
position must he 
damming the 
ditch. And the 
channel was fill- 
ing ; the growing 
rush of water 
told him that. 
They were cap- 
tives till such 
time as he could 
tunnel a way 
with fingers 
alone through 
half-a-dozen feet 
of sun - dried 
clay ! 

Muriel's voice 
was in his ears ; 
her fingers groped for and 
gripped his arm. 

" Let us get out now/' 
she pleaded. "Oh* let 
us get out ! M 
For a moment his throat was parched 
beyond speech. He gulped nervously. It 
was the sound of the sob that fluttered to 
him through the darkness that suddenly 
steeled his manhood t>ack to confidence. 

He turned to her —he showed her what an 
absurd — what a trifling — accident it was — he 
reassured her — he promised her release within 
the hour — nay> within minutes, perhaps— he 
laughed —he joked idiotically of the unforeseen 
chances of a mountain life* He grew almost 
boisterous in his anxiety to prove his point 
and to conceal his fear. 

He got no answer save silence and — half 
heard — a quivering sigh. It seemed to 
madden him. He flung himself upon the 
clay. He tore, he ripped — he snatched 
down great lumps of soil. His breathing cinic 
in gasps as he hewed and pulled. The rain 
hammered ceaselessly upon the zinc panels. 




A minute later a cry halted Fans haw in the 
midst of his toil. 

a Ah ! " quavered Muriel There was 
more than astonishment in the exclamation. 
There was terror. 

"The water Ls running down my back," 
she explained. 

Fanshaw wheeled towards her. The wan 
gleam of light that filtered through the riven 
door shone upon a tiny runnel which trickled 
down the clay and wandered about the floor. 

Fanshaw tried to laugh. 

" You can dodge that, can't you ? " he 
asked, cheerily, and turned again to his 

For a minute she wiis silent again. 

"Yes," she said, at last— and Fanshaw 
heard a new inflection in her voice — u yes, 
I ran dodge it all right, but it can't escape ! " 

Fanshaw's heart stood still. 

He looked down. Already there was half 
an inch of water at his feet His boots 
splashed in it — it 
seemed to broaden 
as he peered. 
Minute by minute 
it would rise. 
Within the hour — 
or less — the pit 
would be full ! 

And with realiza- 
tion of their fate a 
sort of Berserk rage 
seemed to flame 
into the man's 
veins. He turned 
upon the impene- 
trable eafth. He 
worked like a mad- 
man — he cl awed, 
he snatched, he 
wrung great boul- 
ders from the em- 
bedding soil and 
stamped them 
down as if they 
were noxious rep- 
tiles accountable 
for their prisoning. 
With feet and 
hands he smote 
the ungiving 
clay and made progress — by inches. 

The water was at his knees. Through ten 
minutes of frenzied effort it mounted to his 
waist, took a quarter of an hour to lap his 
armpits, and then, in growing volume, over- 
lapped his shoulders. Outside, the in- 
creasing thunders from the channel showed 

Digitized by CTOOgie 

that the mountain stream was fast becoming 
a river. 

As the rising surface laved his chin Fan- 
shaw cried aloud. He turned his fingers 
upon the rift in the panel above his head 
and forced them between the edges. He 
swung his whole weight upon them. 

A splinter broke away — a tiny slice of wood 
not an inch across. The larger opening only 
showed the hopelessness of — hope. Trunk 
and clay came nigh to meeting. There was 
not room to extend a hand, much less 
shoulders, or even a head ! 

He heard a gasp. What was touching his 
chin was over Muriel's lips. He caught her 
to him, lifted her, clasped her to his breast. 
He kissed her passionately. He muttered 
incoherent words — of love- — of encourage- 
ment — of farewell. Her hands were about 
his neck. Hi,-r lips were pressed to his 
forehead again and again. 

tl Together ! " she whispered, breathlessly, 

"We can meet it 
—together I " He 
choked. A ripple 
flung from his 
heaving chest 
flowed against his 
face. He nerved 
himself for the last 
struggle — he drew 
deep draughts of 
air — he tried to 

Crash ! Crash ! 
Crash ! A sudden 
trembling from 
above — a sudden 
sound of swirling 
waters — a sudden 
shaft of light as 
the shadow of the 
great trunk was 
lifted from above 
the rent in the 

Through a long 

instant of suspense 

the great roots 

dragged across the 

zinc. The door 

shook, heaved, then 

burst upward with all the force of Fanshaw's 

last breath-seeking agony, and showed the 

open sky ! 

Straining his neck into air and freedom 
Fanshaw realized how their safety had been 
won. The great pine was gone — was already 
fifty yards away, surging down the ditch 





channel to the plain. The new-risen torrent 
had gripped the mass of boughs which 
dammed it, arid had torn the whole mass with 
irresistible force from where it lay. What 
had threatened them had, in turn, become 
their saviour — the stream had prised the 
lock of their cell ! 

He turned to Muriel and lifted her out 
upon the sodden earth. With a heave 
and a splash he fol- 

She looked about 
her in bewilderment. 
Her lips were parted 
as if she could not 
drink enough of the 
rain-cooled ain She 
clung to him as he 
stood beside her. , 

She pointed to the 
trampled strip of soil 
where the cabin had 
stood. Of the plank- 
ing not one 
vestige re- 

" An hour 
ago — less than 
an hour — we 
sat there and— 
and laughed ! Jt 
she cried j won- 
deringly* " To 
think of it ! 
An hour? No, 
a year, a century, Jack — a lifetime ! " 

Still leaning on his arm she guided him to 
the great chasm in the ground from which 
the huge tree had been plucked. The depth 
of the pit and the mighty splinters of roots 
told what forces had been at work. She 
peered into it curiously, pointing out the great 
boulders that had been levered up by its fall. 

Suddenly Fanshaw gave a shout. Tho 
next instant he was in the hole, picking 
feverishly at the scattered clods. With 
amazement she watched him snatch the 
loose handkerchief from his neck, fill it with 
grit, and stumble down to the edge of the 
torrent. He knelt upon the bank. He 
laved the bundle in the stream, swinging it 
in slow, circling motions, drawing it along 
the surface where the current was fiercest. 
The mud within it began to dissolve, staining 
a long trail upon the already turbid water. 
He shook it —he beat it upon the ripples. 
Finally he drew it to him and, bending, 
spread it open upon the bank. He gave it 

Vol. xk Lx.— 19* 

by Google 

one searching look, and then shouted again, 

" The colour ! " he yelled- "The colour — 
and more than the colour ! The stuff itself ! 
It's found —it's found at last ! " 

His voice roared 
up the gorge. The 
echoes tossed it 
from crag to crag. 
A sudden terror 
seized upon Muriel. 
Had the reaction 
maddened him? 
Was this the 
sudden frenzy 
of relief? 

He took off 
his cap and 
waved it tri- 
u m phan tly. 
He called to 
her — he beck- 
oned to her 

he cr i e d , 
pointing to 
the strip of silk be- 
tween his knees, 
"Look at it! It's 
fortune — it's love ! 
It means everything 
— -it means you ! '* 

Still half hesitat- 
ing she drew near 
She stared she rubbed her eyes — and then, 
in an instant, understood. Among the grit 
and rubble specks of metal gleamed over 
fold and fold. 

" Aye— the lost lode ! " he cried, ih A 
stratum cleavage fifty yards wide, but the lost 
lode as I live I" He rose to his feet. His 
arms were about her — his kisses rained upon 
her cheek. 

" And now / surrender 3 " he told her, 
"Now /come to you I Sweetheart, this 
time it is / who ask- who entreat With 
honour 1 can say, *Gome to me, be my 
wife, ? " 

For a moment she looked back at him as 
one dazed. Then, as if drawn by an attrac- 
tion irresistible, she turned her eyes towards 
the cellar — that cellar which still brimmed 
with the waters of the treacherous runnel. 
She shuddered. She pressed her face against 
his dripping breast, 

M Oh, jack ! ** she murmured, thankfully, 
"Oh, Jack!" 

Original from 


Humour in Clerical Life. 

By thk Rev. D. Wallace Duthie. 

UMOUR may be described as 
the flavour of character ; every 
man with any real distinction 
of character has a humour of 
his own, 

This has been true of the 
English episcopate and of many of the 
ablest representatives of the Nonconformist 
pulpit. Who that has known him can forget 
the fun which sparkled amidst the vast stores 
of learning a late prelate carried so lightly? 
Who that has heard them can forget the 
droll and epigrammatic things said in a 
deliberate way, much as we may suppose an 
owl to lay an egg? Undergraduates who 
could not unburden themselves to others 
could open their hearts to him. 

The geniality which some were found to 
condemn preserved at least one man to the 
service of the Church who has since given 
notable proof of his calling. Shy and nervous, 
he had approached perhaps the most extra- 
ordinarily solemn member of the Bench of 
Bishops, only to be confused and repelled. 
After listening with the gravity which was all 
his own, his lordship had extended to him 
the three fingers of an affectionate 
(and permanent) farewell* 

Fortunately j the youth made one 
other effort before relinquishing 
his idea of ordination. Shown into 
a study filled with what might have 
been the odour of sanctity, but 
smelt uncommonly like a fine 
Havana cigar, a well-timed plea- 
santry relieved him of his embar- 
rassment and set him at his rase, 
enabling him to give so good an 
account of himself that lie was 
readily accepted as a candidate. 

Another bishop, happily still with 
us, though retired from the cares of 
his Colonial diocese, was famous 
throughout Australia no less for 
his quaint conceits than for his 
spiritual vigour and eloquence. 

Presented with two splendid 
carriage horses, he named them 
Bryant and May, because (t) they 
were an ideal match, {2) they con- 
tained hidden fire, (3) they went off 
when struck from the box* 

An attack of indigestion from 
an unwary meal overnight led him 
to propound a conundrum to his 

host at the breakfast - table— " Why are 
cucumber and cheese like the Book of 
Common Prayer?" with the heart-breaking 
answer, ** Because they give you the colic 
for the day." 

When one of his clergy described a 
wealthy parishioner as a careless, indifferent 
sort of man, who cared only for his garden 
during the day and his billiard-room at night, 
he said : "Garden I Billiards ! Don't call 
him careless ; he evidently minds his peas 
and cues.'' 

To the rude question of a dissipated 
(>assenger on board ship, ''Why do vou wear 
that thing? " (a cross), he replied : u For the 
same reason that you wear a red nose as a 
mark of my occupation " 

Canon W -, vicar of an imjxirtant jxirish 
in I Lancashire and chaplain to an asylum, took 
credit to himself that he did not entrust the 
spiritual care of its inmates to his subordi 
nates, but took the services himself. One day 
a lunatic met him in the corridor, and asked 
abruptly, " Do you like beef '? fr Smiling, and 
with the easy tolerance for a cra^v brain. 
Canon W replied, "Yes, certainly .*' "Are 







you very fond of beef?" "I like it very 
much, 11 " Would you like beef on Sunday 
and Monday and all the other days of the 
week ? " u Not so often as that ; I like a 
change." " So do we. Send your curate next 
Sunday, will you ? " 

Those people who would fain have human 
nature re-formed and re stamped according to 
their own dismal type must be especially dis- 
mayed by the way in which the lighter side of 
things makes itself felt in church. 

For humour declines to be banished, even 
from that holy 
edifice. It 
takes its place 
at the font, 
and is respon- 
sible for many 
of the names 
inflicted upon 
helpless babes. 
"Happy Bul- 
lock" was our 
first baptismal 
entrv in one 
register, and 
"Cas sandra 
Cow meadow n 
the last 

the parent 
evades respon- 
si bill ty with 
the formula, 
"I'd rather 
leave it to you, 
sir," after the 
manner of a 
cabman with 
his fare. 

Humour is T 
perhaps, more 
barred from 
the pulpit than 
from any other 
part of the sacred fane, 
which tolerated and 


Popular opinion, 
even encouraged it 
hundreds of years ago, now declares it to be 
out of place* or allows it only to preachers 
of exceptional personality, like the late Charles 
Spurgeon and Joseph Parker. Irony and a 
bitter tongue are still permitted to do their 
best or worst, but nothing that can excite the 
risible faculties. 

Under these conditions, humour in the 
pulpit is usually unintentional It finds its 
expression unconsciously. It glimmers in 
unguarded expressions, or shows itself in 

Digitized by LiOO^J lC 

eccentricities of look and gesture. Texts 
with incongruous circumstances give it birth. 
Not long ago the incumbent of one of the 
largest parish churches in England was insti- 
tuted to his living on St. Matthias 1 Day in 
the presence of a crowded congregation. Few 
of that congregation remained unmoved when 
the bishop, referring to the festival with its 
collect, " Who into the place of the traitor 
Judas didst choose thy faithful servant 
Matthias, 7 ' remarked that the circumstances 
under which they were gathered together that 

were some- 
what similar. 
The presence 
of the late 
vicar, a highly 
esteemed peer 
of the realm, 
added a poig- 
nant applica- 
tion to the 

The same 
dear old pre- 
late preached 
in another 
church in the 
same town 
after it had 
been closed 
and decorated. 
An uncomely 
building at 
best, oscillat- 
ing between a 
barn and a 
basilica, even 
a careful 
scheme of 
a d o r n ni e n t 
had failed to 
make it beauti- 
ful Looking 
round at the 
blues and yellows which stared at him from 
the walls, the bishop sighed heavily and gave 
out his text, s< How dreadful" — another sigh 
—"how dreadful is this place/' 

It is unfortunate when those who are pre- 
sent insist on reading the preacher's personal 
affairs into the passage of Scripture he 
announces. This was the case with a clergy- 
man about to espouse *' en secondes noces ' h 
a lady of notably shrewish temperament- By 
experts it was considered that his second 
marriage would profoundly increase his 
respect for the memory of his first wife. 




On the last Sunday of his widower hood he 
announced as his text, "Oh, that I had 
wings like a clove, for then would I fly away 
and be at rest" At his first appearance after 
a waning honeymoon he was unhappily led 
to choose the words, "Oh, wretched man 
that I am, who shall deliver me from the 
body of this death ?" 

Humour often accompanies those who 
marry and are given in marriage, an unin- 
vited guest A vicar near Huddersfield, 
presenting the hand of the bride to the groom 
for investment with the ring, was astonished 
to find that his own thumb was being 

The late vicar of the Brontes' parish of 
Haworth, observing the disconsolate looks 
of a newly-wedded pair, found that they were 
at variance as to the respective duties of 
lighting the fire and cleaning the boots, each 
asserting that these were the work of the 
other, Like a discreet man the vicar sug- 
gested a compromise —the man t who rose 
early, to light the fire ; the woman to clean 
his foot-gear at night. With this judgment 
of Solomon they were satisfied, and departed 
with shining faces. 

Bui humour refuses to confine itself to the 
atmosphere of nuptial vows and wedding 

TH H *H<J H l-SHi H TliU UK 1 1 HEl J R( MM, 

energetically licked. This lubrication, it 
appeared, was intended by the short-sighted 
bridegroom for the bride's finger, in order to 
ensure the easy passage of the ring. 

Another bachelor, after his lady-love had 
been asked if she would love, honour, and 
obey, turned to her and, in a loud voice, 
which echoed through the church, demanded, 
M Will ye black my boots in the morning ? n 
This at first sight seemed an ill-timed plea- 
santry which called for rebuke ; it was really 
an attempt to settle a much-debated question. 

Digitized by LiOOQ I C 

marches ; it rises superior to the terrors of 
the grave ; it murmurs a final jest from the 
lips of dying men ; it will be exorcised by no 
function, however depressing or severe. A 
sense of the ludicrous may be at times a 
burden heavy to be borne, jxxssessing its 
unhappy victim at the very moment when 
of all others he wishes it away. 

A young Australian clergyman who uttered 
a Spoonerism at the most critical passage of 
the Burial Service, and declared : lt We 
commote her biddy. jtQlhe earth," was so 




overcome by the absurdity of the expression 
that for a few tremendous seconds he re- 
mained apparently on the brink of an 
apoplectic seizure, mouth open and eyes 

Sometimes it happens that the passage of 
Holy Writ selected is apropos of the occasion 
in a sense both sorrowful and droll. An 
incumbent of the name of Price disappeared 
from his parish in Victoria, taking with him 
nearly ^200 of Church money. The /oa/m 
kncns who took his place was impelled by 
his evil genius to commence his ministry 
from the words, " Without money and with- 
out price." 

Perhaps the best illustration of this un- 
happy combination is to be found in the 
experience of a Colonial bishop already 
quoted who was in those days a rector in the 
Midlands. Late on a Saturday evening he 
received a letter from the rural dean asking 
him urgently, and in the name of friendship, 
to take the service at his church the next 
morning. The request was specially incon- 
venient in view of a church parade at home. 
Nevertheless, the rector arranged to meet the 
wish of his friend. It happened that on the 
previous Sunday he had preached for the first 
and only time in his life from the Song of 
Solomon, basing on the words, " Come away, 
my love, come away," an appeal to the 
soul to forsake the base, the ignoble, and 
the sordid, and rise into the realms of the 
spiritual and divine. 

It proved to be one of his most successful 
efforts ; several of his parishioners praised it 
loudly during the week. He determined, 
therefore, with the subject fresh in his mind, 
to take it again on this particular morning. 

And again it excited remark. With the 
announcement of his text a faint smile 
flickered on the lips of staid and elderly 
ladies beneath him, whilst younger members 
of his audience hid their faces in muffs and 
handkerchiefs. Perplexed, the preacher 
looked for an explanation in disordered robes 
or stole awry, but could find none. As he 
proceeded, his eloquence and earnestness 
restored quiet to his hearers ; under the 
spell of his speech even the man with the 
cough forgot to proclaim his trouble. 

Unhappily the sermon was of a climacteric 
nature, ending at intervals with the fervid 
appeal, "Come away, my love, come away." 
Each repetition of these words proved too 
much for the composure of the people, and 
became the signal for renewed demonstrations 
of suppressed mirth. In vain the distracted 
preacher, unable to detect the cause of it all, 

Digitized by Gi 

lashed himself into a frenzy of fine words, 
and chanted his refrain with greater passion 
than ever ; he surveyed only an area of broad 
grins, of agonized attempts to preserve the 
decorum due to the time and place. He 
finished abruptly, and left the pulpit in 

The congratulations of a venerable church- 
warden in the vestry failed to appease him. 
He demanded the cause of the outrageous 
behaviour in church. 

" It is possible, sir," said the white-haired 
official, " to preach a most admirable sermon 
which may not be appropriate." 

"What is wrong with it? My own people 
liked it immensely." 

" Surely you know, sir, the circumstances 
under which you have come to us this 
morning ? " 

"This is all I know" (producing the rural 
dean's letter). 

" Then it is my painful duty to inform you 
that our vicar eloped last night with the 
doctor's wife ! " 

Many humorous stories are directly at the 
expense of the clergy, and afford opportunities 
to the laity for reprisals otherwise denied 
them. A favourite narrative in Natal de- 
scribes how one of Bishop Colenso's priests 
was in the habit of going out each morning 
to the Indian Stores for three fresh eggs — 
one for his wife's breakfast and two for him- 
self. One day he returned with a face full 
of concern. 

"What is the matter?" was the anxious 

" Had a little accident," was the reply. 

" I hope you haven't hurt yourself." 

" No ; but I have broken one of the eggs, 
and it's your egg, my dear." 

A farewell meeting at Melbourne in honour 
of a retiring bishop will long be remembered 
for some ludicrous comparisons made by a 
prominent citizen, who was one of the 
bishop's greatest admirers. Referring to the 
health and circumstances of the parting 
guest, he likened him to the patriarch Job in 
three particulars : because, in the first place, 
he had lost his wife, in the second place he 
had lost his money, in the third place he was 
covered with boils ! 

Many middle-aged men will easily recall 
the verger at Canterbury Cathedral who, like 
Tennyson's brook, seemed to go on for ever. 
He once explained to a visitor the secret of 
his longevity in a way by no means flattering 
to his ecclesiastical superiors. " Since I've 
been here, sir, I've seen five deans come and 
five deans go ; and why ? Because they have 




eight courses for their dinner and I have 

To those about to seek admission into 
holy orders an interview with the ordinary 
is a time of much anxiety, sometimes of much 
mental confusion. This, perhaps, accounts 
for the unusual behaviour of a young candi- 
date who, dismissed on the episcopal door- 
step with a solemn ** God bless you, ,J hastily 
answered, "Don't mention it, my lord," 

Even clergy of eminence have been the 
victims of practical jokes. A former dean of 
a Northern University, finding an unusually 
large congregation in the cathedral a* 
evensong, inquired the occasion of it from 
a passing undergraduate. He was told 
that the visitors belonged to the Newcastle 
Association of Total Abstainers. He ac- 
cordingly addressed some gracious words to 
them after the Second lesson, admitting his 
own want of claim to be considered quite an 
abstainer, but expressing his sympathy with 
the great effort they were making to put down 
strong drink. Amongst other things he 
assured them that the fine specimens of man- 
hood he saw before him did credit to the 
principles they professed- Alas, for the good 
dean ! The portly figures before him, gar- 

nished with cable watch-chains and decanter- 
stopper studs, belonged to the Newcastle 
Licensed Victuallers' Association, whose 
identity the undergraduate had wickedly 

Our final illustration of 
clerical life shall be taken 
in the South of England 
charity. The mayor had 
to secure a representative 

he looked around and 



the humour of 
from a meeting 
to promote a 
laboured hard 
gathering, and 
found the lion 
lying down with the lamb, the bishop 
of the diocese seated side by side with 
the Wesley an superintendent of circuit, the 
Baptist and other ministers, he felt that he 
had reached the supreme moment of his life. 
He rose, bursting with emotion. After 
expressing his delight at seeing a number of 
Christian men forgetting their differences 
and uniting in a common cause, he summed 
up the situation in these eloquent words : 
" The fact is, my lords and gentlemen, if a 
man's 'art is in the right place, it don't 
matter what sex he belongs to/ 1 

The writer of this [>aper is aware of the 
suspicion attaching to all narratives of alleged 
humour - a suspicion not to be dispelled by 
an affidavit sworn at the nearest respectable 
solicitors. To some extent he shares in it. 
Stories which have survived the Flood or 
outlived the early dynasties have attained a 
sorry immortality. Dressed in the ready- 
made clothes of our own times, 
they have been paraded as the 
consummate flower and most 
recent expression of the mind or 
man. The sparkling witticism 
of to-day, the gay impromptu of 
to morrow, may, if they please, 
boast a pedigree more ancient 
and varied than a Highland 
laird's. "An uncle of mine/* 
" A man I know," stand con- 
fessed in some Persian sage or 
some monastic and mediaeval 

Kven into this veracious 
chronicle Joe Miller may have 
obtruded his undying person- 
ality. It may pacify our readers 
to know (allowing a guarantee 
to be possible) that the 
greater part of what is here 
set down has come to pass in 
the experience of the writer and 
his friends. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Lady of the Lilies. 

By Mrs. C- N. Williamson. 

ANNI :" 
" Leo ! " 

The two brothers shook 
hands, looking with a long, 
sweet look into each other's 
eyes, for they had not met 
for a year. It is a far cry from Rome to 
Venice, when you must count each lira. 

Leo was young and very handsome. Titian 
would have been glad to paint him, had he 
lived in Titian's day. Giovanni was prouder 
of his brother than words could tell ; but a 
Venetian has eyes, and words are super- 
fluous when it is a matter of the heart. 

" You are a great man, Leo," he said. 

"No," said I^eo, who was younger than 
Giovanni by ten years, and had been the 
baby at home, long ago in the old Rio 
Alberoni. "But — they think in Rome that 
I can sing a little. People are kind." 

" Kind ? They are kind to themselves in 
being kind to you," Vanni protested. " You 
look like a gentleman in those clothes, Leo. 
Come and get into the gondola. People will 
think I am rowing a prince." 

"Then I shall cease to be a gentleman 
to-morrow, if it is the clothes which make me 
one," laughed Leo Contarini, " for I shall 
put on the old blue serge if you have kept it, 
and I will be a gondolier like yourself. Ah ! 
it's good to be under Venetian skies again." 

By this time they were in the gondola, 
with which Vanni had met his brother at the 
railway station, up at the far end of the 
Grand Canal. Leo's luggage had been put 
in, and Vanni was rowing his well-loved 
passenger home. 

" It was by luck only that I could come 
for you," he said. "You gave me no time 
to write after sending word that you were to 
have a holiday, and telling the day and hour 
when you would arrive. But if you had given 
more time I should have been obliged to 
say, * Look for Luigi Alessandro or Pietro 
Ruffini ; I dare not promise to be there.'" 

" Why would you have had to say that ? " 
asked Leo. 

" Because our dear and good signore has 
suddenly arrived in Venice, bringing his 
daughter. Oh ! but a lily in beauty and a 
lily in name too. To-day they have gone 

Digitized by G* 

to Chioggia by steamer, or I must have been 
at their service. You know well that we 
Contarinis are bound to serve him, if it were 
with our hearts' blood." 

" Yes," the younger man agreed, a warm 
light brightening his eyes. " His goodness 
saved our mother's life and gave me my 
career. There is nothing we could do which 
would be too much or enough to show the 
signore that we Contarinis can be grateful." 

" He and the beautiful signorina are at the 
same hotel and in the same rooms he had 
ten years ago. It would be like old times 
again to see his face in the same places and 
to be his gondolier, if it were not for the 
young lady." 

" She is a grown woman, then ? He spoke 
of his ' little girl/ I remember, and how, some 
day, he would bring her to Venice ; but if I 
thought of her it has always been as a 

" She is not a child, nor is she a woman. 
She is a young girl, young as the morning, 
and as fair. But you will see, Leo mio. 
You must pay your respects to the signore 
and tell him about yourself." 

" I have not conceit enough for that," said 
Leo, laughing, and looking handsomer than 
ever,, as he showed his white teeth. " The 
signore will have forgotten that there was a me. 
It was for your sake he did everything, Vanni. 
He saw me at most twice — a thin slip of a 
fifteen-year-old boy, without courage even to 

" But you sang, 
in the moonlight. I brought you out, curled 
up in the gondola, as a surprise for the 
signore. You kept so quiet, he did not 
suspect that he and I were not alone until 
we lay out there in the still lagoon, close to 
our dear San Giorgio Maggiore , and when I 
gave you the signal you began to sing. If 
I, your brother, do say it, it was like the 
" voice of an angel. The signore was quite 
excited. He did not say much before you. 
That was not his way. But next morning 
he questioned me, and when he had learned 
that our great ambition was to save money 
and grant your wish to be a singer, he asked 
how much that would mean. When I 
answered that it would be a great sum, no 


Well I recall that night 



less than a thousand lire, to keep you for 
three years and let you go all that time to a 
good school for the music, he said, ( That 
shall be my present p ; and the same day he 
put the notes into my hand/' 

"Yes, It was but the nobler because he 
cared nothing for me, only for you, Vanni, 
It was for your sake, and so I owe all to you, 
as well as to him. I went to thank the 
s ignore, I remember, and could not think of 
a word to say. After that he left Venice ; 
and by this time he will have forgotten that 
Giovanni C on tar in i had a brother," 

**Not so, for we have already spoken of 
you, I told him you were singing a fine 
part in an opera company in Rome, and that 
our dear father and mother had seen your 
success before they died. He was glad to 
hear the good news and said he would see 
you when you came to Venice/' 

" He knew I was to come ? 3J 

" I told him your season was over at the 
end of last month, and that, now May had 
arrived, you would come with it for your 
holiday to stay with me and my Beata in our 
little home, which would be honoured by 
your presence.'' 

"But, Vanni, you should not have said 

" It is true. And 1 would have the 
signore know that you 
are now someone very 
different from us j 
because it is with his 
money that you rose 
to be what you are. 
To - night I take the 
gondola for the after- 
dinner outing of the 
signore and his daugh- 
ter. Every night they 
go at nine o'clock, now 
there is a mootv* 

When night came 
Sir Charles Hampton 
and his daughter Lilian 
brought a guest lor the 
moonlight excursion (if 
excursion it could be 
called, when ihey were 
simply to drift, with 
now and then a touch 
of the oar) f so Vanni 
said nothing about Leo, 
but his heart was 
full of him. He thought 
of his handsome 
brother, and felt a 
vague, uneasy jealousy 

of the Hamptons' guest * who had a haughty 
profile and a supercilious air, as if the world 
bad been made for his pleasure. Leo was 
far handsomer, yet this lazy Englishman 
would scorn him, would look at him even as 
he looked at Vanni \ yes, with a glance that 
made no more of a man's flesh and blood 
than of an image carved in w T ood« Ah ! it 
was a queer world, You might be as beau- 
tiful as a fairy prince ; you might sing with a 
voice to charm St, Theodore down from his 
pillar in the Piazzetta ; you might have the 
blue blood of the Contarinis in your veins ; 
but if your forebears had met misfortune and 
you had been bom as a peasant, never could 
you lean against the soft cushions of a 
gondola, with an exquisite white blossom of 
English maidenhood at your side, as your 
equal You must do your work, whether it 
were to row or to sing, while others looked on 
and did not know that you were a man. 

"Go slowly, Vanni," said Sir Charles. 
"We're in no hurry," 

" Si, signore," answered Vanni J s placid 
voice, • 

"Fancy anyone being in a hurry in Venice ! n 
exclaimed the girl, " Isn't this — Heaven? " 
And she lifted her face> as if to drink deeper 
draughts of the night's beauty. She was 
wrapped in a soft white cloak, with lines of 

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'j s *'TTH.a-i<3rtgfjfr , a |f ror , 




silver on it here and there, which the moon 
burnished. And of her uncovered hair the 
light wove a saint's halo of pale gold, rippling 
with wavering sheen and shadow as the breeze 
moved over it. Under the wreath of gold 
her face was like a delicate ivory carving, set 
with dark jewels for eyes. 

By day she was a very human girl, only 
rather daintier and prettier than most other 
human girls of nineteen ; but now, in the 
spell of the moonlight, her beauty was 
unearthly, and it was so that Leo Contarini 
saw her first. 

He, too, was out on the lagoon. In old 
days, before the munificence of the signore 
had assured his future, he had learned the 
craft of the gondolier — the calling of his 
people for generations, since the family 
fortunes fell with the family palace, its very 
foundation forgotten now. To-night he was 
out in the old gondola which Vanni and 
Beata used for themselves and little Tonio 
on feast days, when they went pleasuring. It 
was ten years old — five years past a gondola's 
prime — but though its swanlike grace had 
gone it was seaworthy, and still obeyed the 

Leo had been carelessly happy alone in 
the old gondola, which had been new before 
his "career" began. He, too, was drinking 
in the beauty of the night, with his face 
held up to his loved Venetian sky, his 
nostrils wide for the salt smell of the lagoon. 
Then he had heard his brother's quiet voice, 
and he had turned to see Vanni's gondola 
black against the silver water, Vanni's figure 
swaying against the silver sky. The moon had 
Dluminated a girl's lifted face, and — Leo was 
carelessly happy no more. 

He had seen women more beautiful than 
she, perhaps, but none whose beauty opened 
the doors of his soul and poured in a flood 
of light. The wish came to him that in 
some way, unknown to her, he might add to 
the pleasure she felt in the perfection of the 

What could he do? There was nothing. 
But yes, he could sing. He would be a 
voice for her — the voice of this one Venetian 
night He was content to be that and 
nothing more ; but he would sing so that 
she should not forget. Sometimes she 
would think of that voice, and so something 
of his would be hers, for all the years that 
she remembered Venice. 

With a few sweeping strokes of his oar he 
widened the space of ebony and silver 
between the two gondolas. Then he asked 
himself what should be the one song that he 

Vol. xxix.— 20. 

would give this girl to carry away with her 
down the years. Should it be a passionate 
love song? No; it must be lilies, not red 
roses, for that fair saint of gold and ivory in 
her silver shrine. She was a lady of lilies. 

Almost without conscious choice he found 
himself singing Gordignani's " O Santissima 
Vergine" — clear, white music, pure as the 
sheen of the moon. 

" By Jove, what a voice ! " exclaimed Sir 

"It's the surroundings which give it 
value," said Lord George West " Dare 
say it doesn't amount to much really." 

" Oh, hush, please — please ! Don't let us 
lose a note," whispered the girl. 

Vanni said nothing. But he knew who 
was singing. No one save Leo could sing 
like that So much he knew, yet he was far 
from knowing why Leo sang. He smiled as 
he stood at his oar, thinking that this time 
Leo was giving him a surprise, as well as the 
signore. It was a pretty idea. Vanni won- 
dered if the signore would guess and ask 
questions. If he did not ask Vanni would 
not speak — not to-night, at all events. But 
Vanni was dying to tell that the golden voice 
was his brother's, and he was disappointed 
when no questions came, for this showed, 
he thought, that the signore had forgotten 
Leo was expected. If he had remembered, 
he might have put two and two. together. 

When the song ended they talked about 
the voice, and Sir Charles praised it highly ; 
but, instead of trying to satisfy his curiosity 
by an appeal to Vanni, he merely argued with 
Lord. George West. Sir Charles believed 
that it must be a gentleman who sang — a 
Venetian, perhaps — while Lord George was of 
opinion that it was only some gondolier, with 
a better voice than most of his fellows. And 
Leo did not sing again. 

For a long time that night Lilian Hampton 
sat at her window, looking out over the 
mirror that was the lagoon, and as she 
thought of a thing that had happened, the 
refrain of the song she had heard was in her 
ears, like the sound of the sea in a shell. 
When they had come back to the hotel 
Lord George West had tried to tell the girl 
that he loved her, and she had stopped him, 
she hardly knew why ; only — he had seemed 
so commonplace after that wonderful singing. 
The voice out there on the lagoon had con- 
centrated all the sweetness, all the poetry and 
beauty of life which she had vaguely felt 
existed, but had never known. It had said 
to her that if she married George West, 
though she might be happy enough in a way, 

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II I I '.' I 1 1 




and would have the satisfaction of being 
envied by most of the women she knew, 
there must always be something that she 
would miss. And the something would be the 
best of all ; just that poetry, and sweetness, 
and beauty which she had the capacity to 
know and had not known. 

Vanni had been told to bring the gondola 
to the hotel door at ten o'clock next morn- 
ing ; but at nine the s ignore received 
word that his gondolier was anxious to speak 
with him for a moment 

Sir Charles Hampton, who was an early 
riser, was having 
his tea and toast 
alone in the gar- 
den, as he liked to 
do, that he might 
have half an hour's 
peaceful reading of 
the day-before-yes 
terday's paper. He 
guessed that some- 
thing unexpected 
must have hap- 
pened, hastily 
finished his tea, 
and went into the 
long hall, where 
the water-lights 
made a fishing- net 
of gold orv the 
polished ceiling, 

Vanni stood on 
the marble steps 
which led up from 
the water to the 
door of the hotel, 
and as the signore 
appeared he came 
forward with a 

"Why, Vanni, 
what's the matter ? ,? 
asked Sir Charles. 

"Signore, I am 
sorry to say that I 

have stupidly disabled myself. It happened 
last night on the way home. For my sins I 
stepped on a nail, and, the sole of my shoe 
being thin, the point went far into the flesh. 
I hoped that it would be nothing, but this 
morning I find that I cannot use my foot on 
the ponta piedt. It is not that I would mind 
the pain, but I could not row the illustrious 
signore properly ; and I have come at this 
hour to ask him whether he would wish 
to ,p 

* Why, we shall have to get another gon- 

by Google 

dolier, 1 suppose, until you're well," said Sir 
Charles. " I'm sorry youVe hurt yourself, 
Vanni, and you must be careful, of course. 
But it's a nuisance, all the same." 

" If the signore approves, I have another 
gondolier ready/' announced Vanni. "It is 
what I was about to tell him. My brother 
I,eo, who owes so much to the signore, has 
now come home for his holiday, and is at 
the signore's service," 
"Kut I*eo is a singer." 
'"True, signore, but he has not forgotten 
how to be a gondolier, and he will gladly 
take my place. It will 
be better than having 
a stranger, and I pro- 
mise the signore that 
there is not a more 
skilled gondolier to 
Venice than Leo." 

"Well, I will have a 
talk with him. Is he 
with you ? " 

11 Si, signore. 1 
will call him/' 

A moment later 
a tall young man 
was bowing with 
respect before Sir 
Charles Hamil- 

He wore the 
simple yet pictur- 
esque blue serge 
dress of the ordi- 
nary gondolier, 
but he did not 
wear it like an 
ordinary gondo- 
lier ; and the old 
soldier's first 
thought was, 
MVhy, this 
fellow looks like 
an Italian 
prince, and he's 
one of the 
handsomest chaps I ever saw ! " 

"It was I^eo who sang on the lagoon last 
night, signore," said Vanni, seeing that his 
brother had made an impression, and in his 
pride wishing to heighten it But instantly 
Sir Charles's face changed. He had held 
out his hand to Leo, and had intended, after 
a few kindly words, to accept the offer of his 
services. But he remembered his daughter's 
extreme delight in the beauty of the voice 
heard in the moonlight, and her wish to see 
the singer, She was romantic, of course, like 

Original from 





most girls of her age. If she knew Leo 
Contarini's story, and knew how he could 
sing, she might be inclined to take more 
personal interest than would be prudent in 
so handsome a young man. 

Accordingly he told Leo that he was 
pleased to see him and to hear that he was 
doing well. He thanked him for offering to 
act as gondolier, but thought it would be 
wiser to find some other substitute for Vanni. 
" You see," he explained, " you are not a 
gondolier now, and your position as my 
servant would be incongruous, awkward for 
everybody concerned. You would be hurt if 
we treated you as we treat your brother, yet 
we could not make you one of our party/' 

" I would neither expect nor wish it," pro- 
tested Leo, speaking in English, which he 
had learned for the sake of his music, as he 
had German and French. " I should be 
happy to show my gratitude, even in such a 
little way, and I should be glad to help my 
brother. If you take me as your gondolier, 
signore, I am a gondolier and nothing else." 

" Remember, I couldn't have your singing 
become a subject of conversation. If you 
do this thing you'll have to keep your talent 
to yourself. Not a song ; not a hint that 
you can sing. I don't wish to be unkind, 
and I hope I'm not a snob, but — there are 
some things that can't be mixed, you know/' 
" I quite understand, signore." 
" Very well. I feel sure I can depend on 
Vanni's brother to keep his word and his 
self-command, even in trying circumstances. 
We'll call the matter settled ; and I shall 
expect you to be ready at ten. There will 
be one passenger beside my daughter and 
myself — a friend who has come here to be 
with us. And oh, by the way, you needn't 
air your knowledge of English. It's so un- 
usual among gondoliers, it might lead to 

" As you will, signore," replied Leo, so 
meekly that Sir Charles was reassured. 

But Leo was not meek because he was 
anxious on his own account to be accepted 
as his brother's substitute. It was Vanni 
who had proposed the plan, and at first Leo 
had shrunk from it ; why, he hardly knew. 
Vanni had urged, however, that here was a 
chance for him to prove his gratitude to the 
good signore, and it was his duty to take 
that chance. So at last Leo had consented, 
with a thrilling of the nerves and a sinking 
of the heart, as if under the weight of a 

His blood beat in his ears as the Lady of 
the Lilies came out on the marble steps an 

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hour later, and looked at him with surprise 
as she descended to the gondola. "Why, 
father, where is Vanni ? " she asked. 

" Vanni has hurt his foot. This is his 
brother," said Sir Charles ; and then, as if 
unwilling to dwell upon the subject, he 
began a conversation with Lord George. 
"Yes, the Accademia is the best place for 
us this grey morning," he said. "Accademia, 

But Lilian was deeply interested in the 
new gondolier. She smiled kindly over her 
shoulder at him, because he was Vannis 
brother ; but as her eyes met his, which were 
quickly and respectfully averted, somehow 
she felt the character of her smile changing. 

This man was very different from Vanni, 
though Vanni was handsome too. It was 
extraordinary that the two could be brothers. 
So the new one's name was Leo ! He 
looked more like a prince in exile than a 
common gondolier. His face was wonder- 
fully refined and intellectual. How sad hi» 
great dark eyes were ; or did she imagine it, 
and was he really like all the others ? 

She could not help thinking about Vanni's 
brother as they wandered from room to room 
at the Accademia, and in one or two master- 
pieces of Titian's she fancied a resemblance 
to the new gondolier's eyes or expression. 

In the afternoon Leo rowed them to the 
Lido for tea, and back again as the sun 
was setting in a blaze of golden glory behind 
Venice. This time Miss Trelawney, who 
had been Lilian's governess and was now her 
companion, was of the party, and she was 
so indiscreet in her artistic admiration of the 
gondolier that Sir Charles was annoyed. 

Then things began to happen which caused 
Lord George to come near hating " that 
posing humbug," as he mentally called the 
unnecessarily handsome gondolier. 

One thing was that Lilian dropped a 
bracelet into the water as she was landing at 
the hotel steps. It did not ma cer much, 
she said. It was not very valuable. She 
was sorry because it had been her "lucky 
bracelet," but she must make up her mind 
to do without it. Really, it was not worth 
while sending for one of the professional 
divers who, the porter said, could be found 
at the arsenal ; besides, by the time he came 
it would be too dark for him to spy about 
under the water. 

" I will go down, signorina, and get your 
bracelet for you now," said Leo. 

" Pooh ! You couldn't stay under water long 
enough to find it," Lord George answered 
for her. 

Original from 

i 5 6 


14 1 will find it," I^o insisted, quietly. 

'* But you would take cold going home in 
your wet clothes," protested Lilian. u 0h f 
no, I wouldn't have you do it for anything." 

" I do not take cold so easily," said Leo, 
laughing, and a moment later he had dis- 
appeared under the water. 

He stayed down so long that the girl was 
frightened, but at last he came up again, his 
face and dark curly hair streaming with 
water, u Here is your bracelet, signorina," 
he announced ; and I*ord George was dis- 

"'|1£HK ts YOU fc BftACKtET, SrtiNQRrNA,' HE ANKOUKCKP,' 

appointed, for it would have been better that 
the bracelet should be lost, he thought, 
than that the gondolier should be promoted 
to a pedestal. 

At the end of a fortnight Vanni was still 
on the sick-list, for blood-poisoning had been 
the result of his accident, and he was re- 
covering slowly, Lilian asked after him every 
day and sent him delicacies ; yet she had 
begun to dread the time when he should be 
strong enough to take up his duties again. 
I,eo was wonderful. He was far, far too good 
to be a gondolier ; and yet she was so glad 
that he was her gondolier that she scarcely 
knew what the days would be like when he 
was her gondolier no more. 

One night she dreamed that she heard ** 
Santissima Vergino " sung as the mysterious 
singer had sung it in the moonlight ; then 
that she saw the singer's face, and it was the 

Digitized by GoOgic 

face of Leo, This was nonsense, of course ; 
but it brought back so vividly her joy in the 
song that next day she told Leo in the 
gondola about the incident, describing the 
voice, and asking if he could tell her who 
the singer was. 

M No, signorina, I cannot tell you," he 
answered, after a few seconds' pause, 

" But there can't be two voices in Venice 

like that man's. It was glorious. I would 

give anything to hear it again — anything/' 

u I will try to find the man for you, 

signorina," said I^eo, "and 

if I can he shall sing." 

That evening Yannrs 
wife, Beata, came to the 
hotel and asked if she 
might see the signorina 
for a moment She was 
i m med lately 
admitted to 
Lilian's room, 
-- where the girl 

was dressing 
for dinner. It 
was but a mes- 
sage from her 
brother - in - law, 
said Beata, but 
he had wished 
her to deliver it 
herself. She was 
"^ to tell the sig- 

norina that the 
man had been 
found, and would 
sing, if the signorina cared to hear him, 
under her window at half-past eleven 
o'clock, when all the barges with the 
ordinary musicians had gone. 

Of course, the signorina did care to hear 
him, and was much excited at the prospect of 
what was to happen. She told her father at 
dinner, and was surprised that he did not 
seem particularly pleased, though Lord 
George's indifference was not so amazing. 
He was never ready to praise I^eo, and the 
cleverer Leo was the less Lord George 
seemed to like him. 

As Lilian sat at her window waiting the 
canal was dark ; but just as mellow, distant 
bells ceased to chime the half hour before 
midnight, out of the darkness rose the voice, 
sweet as the night-blooming Ceres, which 
blossoms while the world sleeps. 

*'0 Santissima Yergine/' the voice sang, 

as before. And then came a strange song 

which the girl had never heard, and the 

words of which she did not understand : but 

Original from 




she thought that the language might be 
Russian, and she knew that it meant love 
and sorrow. It was so beautiful and so sad 
that tears rose to Lilian's eyes, and her heart 
contracted with a pang like the pain of 
parting from one dearly loved. 

" I must know who this man is and see 
him," she said to herself. " To-morrow Leo 
shall tell me." 

Soon after the singing had died into silence 
there was a knock at Sir Charles Hampton's 
door, and he opened it to admit Lord George 
West The younger man apologized for his 
intrusion by saying that he had a reason 
which seemed to him good. " I've found 
out who that singing chap is," he went on. 
" I was in a gondola, w r atching for him to 
come at the time Miss Hampton spoke of. 
While he was giving his serenade I got near 
enough to see his face, and I'm hanged if it 
wasn't your gondolier himself. I thought you 
ought to know, for you've been so busy 
looking after General Hatfield lately that you 
haven't seen what is going on." 

" What is going on ? " asked Sir Charles, 
rather sternly. 

" Well, it's a little difficult to put it into 
words, though I've been feeling it for some 
time. To-night's business puts a still worse 
complexion on it, or I wouldn't bother you. 
But I made inquiries downstairs after finding 
out whom we had to thank for the serenade, 
and it appears that that gondolier of yours 
isn't a gondolier at all. He's an actor, or, 
rather, an opera singer, from Rome. It seems 
that a lot of people know it. He's been 
imposing himself on you as something that 
he isn't for the sake of showing off his 
poses and making an impression on Miss 

Sir Charles frowned. He asked a few 
questions, and Lord George answered, as his 
jaundiced imagination told him, truly. In the 
end the old soldier did not say much, but 
before he went to bed he wrote a letter, firm, 
but kindly, to Leo, telling him that owing to 
unforeseen circumstances his services would 
no longer be wanted. Sir Charles enclosed 
a handsome present, in addition to payment 
for a week, only half of which had elapsed, 
and added the information that the Hampton 
party would leave Venice in the course of a 
day or two. 

It was too late to send the note that night, 
but he determined to do so early next morn- 
ing, in time to prevent Leo from reporting 
himself, according to custom, at ten o'clock. 
A certain uneasiness prevented Sir Charles 
from sleeping as well as his habit was, how- 

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ever, and he did not wake until half-past 
eight. By the time the note was dispatched 
it was close upon nine, and when the 
messenger arrived at the house of Vanni 
Contarini in the Rio Alberoni, with a sealed 
letter for his brother, Leo had been gone for 
long. Where he had gone Vanni did riot 
know, but he knew that his brother must 
return before keeping his morning appoint- 
ment at the hotel, for he had not taken the 

This was the reassuring message which 
reached Sir Charles, still in his room ; but at 
the very moment of its delivery Leo was with 
his daughter. 

She had slept lightly and, waking early, 
had taken a fancy to have her morning coffee 
in the garden on one of the little wistaria- 
shaded balconies hanging low over the jade- 
green water. Sitting there alone she saw 
Leo pass, in Vanni's old gondola, with a 
cargo of lilies. He was slowing down, as if 
to stop at the hotel steps ; therefore she knew 
the flowers must be for her, and she called 
softly to the young man to stop. 

He heard (would he not have heard her 
voice if he had been dead to all other 
sounds ?) and brought the gondola to rest 
close to the balcony railing — so close that he 
could have taken the two little hands lying 
there, taken them both in one of his and 
carried them down to his lips. Leo had 
sung the part of Romeo, and he thought of 
it now, with a mist that clouded his eyes 
for an instant, hiding from him the fairest 
Giulietta who ever looked down from a 
balcony to her lover. Her lover ! — he dared 
not even think the word, and he hastened to 
speak, lest the girl should guess something 
of his emotion from his face. 

So he smiled and told her where he had 
found the lilies. He would take them to the 
door now, and the porter would give them to 
the signorina's maid to put in water. 

"No, don't go yet, I^eo," she pleaded, 
saying his name in the soft tone that always 
set his heart beating to suffocation. " I want 
to talk to you. I want to thank you so much 
for finding that wonderful singer and for per- 
suading him to sing again. Besides, I want 
you to tell me all about him." 

" I gladly would do that, or anything else 
you could ask, but I cannot do that one 
thing, signorina." 

" Surely you must know ? I should like to 
— to send him money if he would take it." 

" He would not, signorina. It was a great 
pleasure for him to sing for you." 

" Why won't you tell me about him ? " 
Original from 




"It cannot be explained, s ig- 
noring I beg that you will not 
ask me." 

61 1 must not if you look and 
speak like that, though it is a 
great disappointment not to 
know. But — no, don't go yet, 
Leo/ 1 

" Is there — something 
I can do for you, sig- 
norma?" he asked, when 
she hesitated j and as she 
flushed his dark 
face paled. 

The girl found 
herself treniblin 
she did not 
why. She hardly 
knew how to put 
into words what 
she really 
wished to 
say to Leo, 
yet she 
could not 
bear to let 
him go with- 
out saying 
it It was 
the first 
time she 
had ever 
been alone 
with him, 
except in 
her thoughts , and it might never happen 

" I — I — want to ask if there's anything 
that troubles you ? ?J she stammered. H Irately 
I have— have fancied that you looked anxious 
or sad, and I wondered if — there w r as any- 
thing that worried you. My father and I 
take a great interest in — in you all, and if 
you needed help- — -" 

"You are more than kind, signorina, but I 
need nothing," Leo broke into her pause, his 
voice slight iy choked. 

" I have — thought of you often, and felt 
that you ought to have a — a higher place in 
the world than a gondolier. It is a beautiful 
life, I know, but — but you are capable of so 
much. If money were needed to start you 
in any career more — suitable, Tve saved up 
nearly a hundred pounds out of my allowance, 
and— if you would let me lend it to vou, 
Leo " 

" Don't, don't, signorina ; I can't bear it ! tJ 
he stammered. " For the love of Heaven, 
if you only knew, I — - 

N'l, 1>m> I CHI VET, 1 EO p SUE I'l ■■ \|ij-U. 

by Google 

**If I knew 
what? Oh, you 
are sad t Leo. 
You are in some 
great trouble," 

" Trouble that 
I must bear , and 
forget, if I can/' 
he answered, 
because her eyes 
compelled him 
to so much of 
the truth- "And 
yet I would not 
choose never to 
have known it, 
for there is a 
sorrow better 
than any joy 
which can ever 
come to me. But 
forgive me, sig- 
norina ; I have 
no right to talk 
to you of myself 

" Not if I ask 
you ? * 

"Not even 
then. But I 
thank you with 
all my heart for 
your goodness. 
I shall never for- 
get. Now, sig- 
norina, I must take your lilies to the door, 
and go home to fetch the other gondola." 

"Good-bye, Leo. I wish I could have 
helped to make you happy/' 

He could not have answered to save him- 
self from death, nor, in that bitter-sweet 
moment, would he have cared to save himself 
from death. But he looked up, and such 
a blinding light flashed from his eyes to hers 
that her breath was caught away and she 
too was speechless. 

She did not say it in so many words 'to 
herself, but suddenly she knew the answer 
to the question she had asked Leo. What 
his lips had refused to tell his eyes had told 
in spite of him. All the world was in eon- 
fusion, tumbling into ruin round her, for not 
only was she loved by this Italian, this 
gondolier of Venice, but she loved the 
gondolier. She ran away from the truth, ran 
to her own room and hid her face between 
her hands. She must forget, she must 
forget ! And he — did she wish him to 
forget? How could everything go on as 




before ? She would not dare to look him in 
the face again. 

Ten o'clock came, and half-past ten ; then 
a knock at the door. Miss Hampton's maid 
with a message from Sir Charles that the 
gondola was waiting. 

Pale as her name-flower, the girl went 
down , wondering how she was to go through 
the ordeal. But it was a strange gondola and 
a strange gondolier, who looked ugly and 
(x*mmon after T^eo's Greek perfection, 

That night she refused Lord George in 
such terms that it was useless to linger 
and ask for the third time ; and two days 
later the Hamptons left Venice. 

It did not seem that the Italian trip had 
been as beneficial to his daughter's health as 
Sir Charles had hoped. She was pale, and 
had lost fiesh rather than gained it. Also, 
she was absent-minded, and went about with 
a far-away look in her eyes, which depressed 
her father. He was dis- 
appointed, too, that she 
had refused Lord George, 
who was the second son 
of a marquis, and a very 
good match, even for 
Lilian Hampton. 

Perhaps, he thought, 
there was somebody else ; 
hut apparently this sup- 
position was wrong, for two 
vears passed and the girl 
showed no preference. She 
refused several good offers, 
and told Miss Trelawney, 
who questioned her, that 
^lie did not believe she 
would ever be able to care 
enough for a man to marry 

" Dear child, have you 
never been the least in 
love?" asked Miss Tre- 
lawney, who was romantic, 
though more than middle- 

To account for a blush 
Lilian laughed, and said : 
tA Oh, only with a voice. I 
think I was in love with -i* LI 

the voice that sang in the 
moonlight at Venire, and I've never quite 
got over it" 

M Oh, my dear, you mustn't say that, even 
in joke ! M exclaimed her companion. " Why, 
it was Leo, that handsome young fellow who 
used to take us aliout in a gondola, 1 )o you 
rem em her ? " 

Did she remember? The blood rushed 
to her face in a tide. M I,eo?' J she echoed. 
"You must be mistaken. It could not have 
been he." 

4 * It was he. But oh, my goodness, now I 
think of it, I promised not to tell" 

"You must tell," said the girl, " Having 
gone so far, you must go on now/' 

"Well, it's so long ago that I promised, I 
really think the promise must be worn out. 
And it cant do harm for you to know. Lord 
George West told me. At least, I overheard 
part of a conversation between him and your 
father, by accident, of course, and then, 
rather than I should blunder into saying any- 
thing to you, I^ord George explained, but 
asked me to keep the story to myself. So I 
did, and, indeed, I'd forgotten it, till you 
s|x>ke about the voice. It seems that Leo 
wasn't a gondolier. He'd been sent away 
from Venice as a boy, on money given by 


by Google 

Sir Charles, to learn to sing, and had got on 
very well He was in opera in Rome or 
somewhere, and had come home for a holi- 
day, when his brother was taken ill Sir 
Charles wanted to get a new gondolier, but 
Loo was impertinent enough to have fallen in 
love with you, and so he offered and almost 
Original from 



insisted. After awhile, though, Lord George 
and Sir Charles found out what an ungrateful 
wretch he was, and your father discharged 
him instantly, telling him never to show his 
face again. But, my child, how queer you 
look ! No wonder you are shocked." 

The girl did not answer. There was a 
great bitterness in her heart. Leo was not a 
gondolier after all ; he was an opera singer. 
Opera singers — men as successful as his voice 
must make him — earned by their genius an 
equality with the proudest in any land. She 
understood many things now that had been 

Leo had loved her —that she had always 
known. But now she knew more, much 
more. She knew that, had he been " an un- 
grateful WTetch," as Miss Trelawney had 
called him, he would have spoken that morn- 
ing when he brought her the lilies — the last 
time that they had ever met. He would 
have told her the truth, and asked that she 
would wait for him until he should be a great 
man in his profession. It was gratitude that 
had kept the words back, and she loved him 
for it, and for his courage, a thousandfold 
more than she had loved him before. 

The years went on and nothing changed 
in the life of the father and daughter. People 
wondered that Lilian Hampton did not 
marry. When she was twenty-six they said 
that she would never marry now ; men did 
not seem to interest her, and she was losing 
her beauty. She looked so pale, so far-away, 
as if the things which amused other young 
women bored her. Then Sir Charles died 
and Miss Trelawney died ; but Lilian would 
not have a new companion. It was true that 
life had lost interest for her. She tried to 
care for people and things, but could not, 
very much. The one real longing she felt 
was to go back to Venice. 

Not to see Leo. She knew that he would 
not be there, and she was sure that he had 
forgotten her long, long ago. Perhaps he was 
married ; perhaps he had abandoned his pro- 
fession, for she had never heard the name of 
I^eo Contarini among famous singers. 

No ; it was not to see Leo that she longed 
to go back to Venice, after eight years. But 
Venice was calling her. She dreamed of 
sunrises and sunsets on the lagoon ; and the 
thought of Venice was like the thought of. her 
vanishing youth. So she listened to the call 
for months, and then she obeyed. 

It was May when she and her father had 
arrived in Venice for the first time. It was 
May when she arrived now, alone ; and she 
went back to the hotel where she had been 

so happy and so sad, in the old rainbow days, 
when Leo had brought her lilies. 

Her train came in when the afternoon was 
late. She was rowed to the hotel, and 
when her maid had unpacked it was time 
to dress for dinner. 

Lilian was tired, and decided to dine early 
in her own sitting-room. 

" Is the signorina going to the opera to- 
night ? " asked the waiter, who was laying the 

" I had not thought of it," said she. 

" Ah ! but it is a great event for Venice," 
the waiter protested. " Many people have 
come on purpose. It is the great Alberoni 
who will sing Romeo in ' Romeo and 
Giulietta.' You know, signorina, he was of 
Venice, and Venice is greatly proud of him." 

" I didn't know," answered Lilian. She 
did know of the celebrated tenor, but as her 
father's place was in Devonshire, and his 
health had been delicate for several years 
before his death, she had been seldom in 
London since the singer had leaped into 
fame, and had never heard or seen him. 

" Oh, yes," the waiter went on, arranging a 
bowl of roses on the table. "His real name 
is Leo Contarini. But is the signorina 

She had half sprung up, then sank down 
again in her chair, her face as pale as the 
white roses in the man's hand. 

" No, no," she faltered. u I had a sudden 
thought. It is nothing. Go on with what 
you were telling me." 

44 1 was only about to say that the great 
Alberoni took that name for the stage 
because he and his family had lived in the 
Rio Alberoni here. His brother was for 
many years a gondolier of Venice, though 
the two were of an impoverished branch of 
an ancient and noble family. Now the 
brother is dead and the wife and child have 
moved away. People say that they are sup- 
ported in affluence by the generous Alberoni. 
And they say also that, while he is here, he 
will look for a palazzo, for he loves Venice 
better than any other place in the world." 

44 If I could only hear him sing again ! " 
Lilian said to herself. Aloud, she asked the 
w r aiter if it would be possible to buy a seat 
for the opera. He thought that it would not 
be possible, as the signorina had not already 
secured one ; but a ticket might have been 
sent back at the last minute. It was at least 
worth while to telephone, and if the signorina 
wished it he would do so. 

The signorina did wish it ; and a few 
moments later there was news. Single seats 

by K: 



u I I I ■_» I I I 






were not to be had for love or money, but a 
box had just been returned. If the signorina 
was willing to pay for four seats, they were 
at her disposal. Quickly Lilian took the 
chance that offered ; and instead of resting 
quietly , alone with her thoughts, as she had 
intended to do on her first evening in 
Venice, to her own surprise she found her- 
self seated in a box in the brilliantly-lighted 
Teatro Fenice. 

Plainly dressed in black as she was, the 
white beauty which had made her for Leo 
Contarini the Lady of the Lilies drew many 
eyes to her box opposite the stage. 

It was just before the balcony scene that 
the singer saw her. 

For him, eight years rolled away in that 
moment like a cloud. Again he was stand- 
ing in his gondola, looking up at a white 
girl who leaned down to him, and for an 
instant -an instant which had lit the gloom 
of his life as if with a lamp — gave him a 
glimpse of her souk 

had sat and talked to him when they had seen 
each other last ! It was the one to the left as 
you came out of the hall door into the garden. 
No one was there this morning, and, feeling 
as if she were in a dream, Lilian took her 
place at the little table. 

Coffee came and she drank it, still in the 
dream which carried her back to the old 
days — to the last day of all, when Leo had 
passed with lilies in the gondola and she had 
called to him. 

Her dreaming eyes looked wistfully out 
over the water, and then into the dream 
a man came rowing a gondola. The man 
had Leo's face* He was dressed in the blue 
serge of the gondolier, and on the seat of 
the gondola lilies lay in a white heap. 

She sprang up, and with a broken cry held 
out her hands. The man looked at her, 
his face suddenly illumined, as it had been 
long ago. He stopped the gondola under 
the balcony. 

Still she held out her hands, and, standing 

Soon she knew that he saw her ; and the up, he took them both. 

" Lady of the Lilies/ 

look which had told of his love long ago 
told of it now. She knew that he had 
always loved her ; that she had been the star 
of his life, and would be 
till the end. 

She w r ent back to her 
hotel in a fever. Would he 
write? Would he come? 

Now, it seemed t there 
was nothing to keep 
him back. He was 
her equal, if not her 
su penttr. Royal ty 
delighted to honour 
him. He was a 
great man, while in 
the eyes of the world 
she was only an 
everyday woman, no 
longer in her first 
youth. If there were 
a step down to be 
taken, it was for him, 
not for her. Yet he 


■ v - 

loved her, 

she was 
sure. So would he 
not come ? 
She did 
night, but 
and went 

not sleep that 
she rose early 
to the garden, 
asking that her coffee might 
be sent there. 

How well she remem- 
bered that balcony over- 
hanging the water, where she 

VoLxxi*.— 2|. 

he said, in a low 
voice* "This — just to see you — just that 
you let me touch your hands for one moment 
pays fur all the years." 
"Will you let them go — 
will you let me go out of 
your life again ?* she asked. 
11 I,et you go?" he echoed. 
"It was only honour — only 
gratitude that kept me from 


"But neither honour nor 
gratitude stands in the way 
now — if you care ? " 
"If I care!" 
" And I — I have wasted 
all these years. Is it 
a dream, or is this 
really you, and were 
you coming to me 
this morning — 
here ? » 

"I would not 
have dared to come. 
I meant only to leave 
the lilies, I did not 

dream that you " 

"Let us bo t h 
dream — always — to- 
gether," she said. 

Then he kissed 
the hands he held. 

At last she was 
his Lady of the 



The Longest Tunnel in the World. 

HTC Simplon Tunnel — the 
longest in the world — is 
gradually nearing completion, 
in spite of the incredible 
difficulties which the engineers 
have had to face. The geo- 
logical surveys of the mountains under which 
the tunnel passes seemed 
to indicate that the rocks 
were dry, and it was in this 
belief and hope that the 
boring of the tunnel was 
begun simultaneously on 
the Swiss and Italian bides 
in November, 1898. For 
a long while all went 
smoothly. Five and a half 
years was the time allowed 
for the boring, and on the 
13th May of last year 
(1904) the last barrier of 
rock should have been 
blasted away, and the en- 
gineers and workmen from 
the two sides should have 
rushed into each others- 
arms. But the mountains 
had in store a disagreeable 
surprise* Some eight miles 
out of twelve had been 
laboriously drilled and 
blasted through the rock, when suddenly 
there was a vast inrush of water. Unsus- 
pected reservoirs in the stony heart of the 
mountain had been tapped by the little hole 
which pigmy man was driving through the 
vast Alpine range, and inexhaustible cataracts 
thundered into the tunnel from fissures in 
the rocky walls. Instead of stone the engi- 
neers now encountered a yield- 
ing and saturated schist It 
was the mountain's revenge. 
For the engineers and con- 
tractors it was a disaster. It 
has meant a vast extra ex- 
pense, a remodelling of plans, 
and a great delay in finishing 
the work. 

The object of the Simplon 
Tunnel is to shorten the 
journey from north to south, 
and to open a new route to 
trade* The Italian exit of the 
tunnel is at the little village 
of Iselle, the Swiss end is at 
Brigue, in the Rhone valley/ 

Digitized *y V-^ODglC 


Frvm a i'koto. by ft. tfnMU, LtitmtHae. 

NhKH CONRAD t'RF£SF!l_, ENtil \VV k-l V 



It will be the longest tunnel in the world. 
From Brigue to Iselle it measures just twelve 
miles; while the St Got hard can boast only nine 
and three-quarters, the Mont Cenis seven and 
a half* the Arlberg six and a quarter, the Central 
London Railway five and three-quarters* 
The brains that have planned this great 
work are Swiss or German ; 
the hands that execute it 
are Italian, The Swiss firm 
of Brandt and Brandau 
are the contractors for the 
work, and in the main the 
contrivers of it also. There 
was no question of compet- 
ing designs or rival esti- 
mates, Messrs, Brandt and 
Brandau {with whom was 
associated the Zurich firm 
of Ixn;her and Co,) went 
with their scheme to the 
Jura-Simp] on Railway 
Company (now the property 
of the State) and it was 
accepted. Unfortunately 
M. Alfred Brandt lived to 
see only the beginning of 
the great enterprise. He 
died on November 29th, 
1899, his duties of super- 
visor of the works on the 
Swiss side devolving on Baron Hugo von 
Rager, the engineer -in -chief. M* Charles 
Brandau has control on the Italian side* 
where the engineer-in-chief is the accom- 
plished Herr Conrad Pressel. 

A little above the village of Vara) one 
comes suddenly upon a curious sight — a 
mushroom town that has sprung up to 
harbour the battalions em- 
ployed in the tunnel works, 

Beyond this Aladdin city 
are the tunnel works. It is 
"Vulcan's stithy" dropped 
down into a profound ravine 
of the Alps, a swarming ant- 
heap of men, "a mighty maze 
but not without a plan," The 
narrow floor of the valley is 
choked from side to side with 
buildings and embankments; 
tall chimneys pour out clouds 
of smoke, while the foaming 
Diverts dashes down in the 
midst. On both sides and 
[^w IK OfiiffriJrirfi^Wi shoulders of the 






valley, on lines laid tier above tier, run loco- 
motives hauling lines of trucks ; the middle 
distance is filled with wide-spreading buildings 
— offices for the engineers, workshops, engine- 
houses, saw-mills, and carpenters' shops. 
Great stones, rounded, shaped, and numbered, 
are stacked in huge rectangular piles ; baulks 
of timber and lengths of iron piping lie ready 
for use j and the river is spanned by several 
temporary bridges. 

Just to the right of the high road one 
may remark in the rough face of the moun- 
tain a dark, egg-shaped mouth, undignified 
with masonry. That jagged open- 
ing into the vast mass of the Alps 
is the Italian exit of the tunnel, 
and soon luxurious trains will 
be issuing from it, bringing curious 
travellers from the pines of the 
northern slopes to the acacias 
and the vines of a sunnier land. 

The forces of Nature have been 
cunningly utilised in the making 
of the great tunnel. On the 
Italian side it is the Diveria and 
on the Swiss side the Rhone that 
supplies the motive power for the 
workshops and for the drills, which, 
day and night, are digging their 
way through the mountain. In 
one respect the Smiplon differs 
strikingly from other Alpine tun- 
nels ; it is not one tunnel, but 

Digitized by OOOglC 

two. Two separ- 
ate and parallel 
tunnels are being 
bored simultane- 
ously, about eigh- 
teen yards one 
from * the other, 
and connected 
every two hun- 
dred yards or so 
by oblique cross 
galleries, or "tra 
verses," While 
both tunnels 
advance together, 
only one is being 
now enlarged to 
the full size and 
lined with ma- 
sonry ; the other 
is left as a gallery 
ten feet by eight 
feet high* Each 
tunnel will bave a 
single line of rails. 
By boring two 
parallel tunnels the difficulty of ventilation 
(serious in the case of the St Got hard) has 
l>een completely overcome. Enormous fans 
{the largest, I believe, in the world) at the 
entrance to the smaller tunnel force in thirty- 
five cubic yards of air per second ; and all 
the transverse galleries except the innermost 
one being closed by iron doors, the air has 
to find its way to the head of the tunnel 
where the men are working, escaping by the 
main tunnel. Some such system as this 
(employed here for the first time) was neces- 
sary to keep down the great heat of the tunnel, 


Ffvut oj 







JYdin a Photo. 

which attains fifty five centigrade, while the 
highest temperature in the St Gothard was 
only thirty centigrade. The temperature at the 
tunnel-haul is still further reduced hy forcing 
air through sprays of water by means of the 
apparatus shown in the above photograph. 
By these means the men are enabled to 
work in comparative comfort, and disease 
among them has been rare. The sanitary 
conditions prevailing — thanks partly to the 
neighbourhood of the parallel gallery — have 
been infinitely better than in any other great 
tunnel, In the St. Gothard, for example, 
the men were 
attacked by, 
and even died 
from, a specific: 

By the cour- 
tesy of Baron 
von Kager and 
Herr Conrad 
Fressel I was 
allowed to make 
a thorough in- 
spection of the 
tunnel and its 

Some three 
thousand five 
hundred men 
are employed 
altogether on 
the Swiss and 

Italian sides, almost 
all of them Italians, 
of whom perhaps 
twenty per cent, have 
brought their wives 
with them. Wages 
average from three to 
six francs a day, and 
work does not cease 
day or night, the work- 
men being divided 
into three shifts, each 
of which works eight 

It was with the gang 
of men that began 
work at one o'clock 
that I went into the 
tunnel First I had 
to put on a miner's 
dress — old clothes, a 
sou '-wester hat, and 
heavy greased boots 
reaching to the knee, 
I carried a miner's 
lamp — a wick floating in paraffin held by 
a long wire with a hook at the end ; old- 
fashioned and smoky, yet the most practic- 
able and efficient lamp ever invented for 
its pur[K>se. While we were getting into 
our things Herr Pressel showed me the 
baths and douches both for engineers 
and men, and the strange arrangement for 
keeping and drying the men's clothes when 
they come out of the tunnel Innumerable 
cords running on pulleys are strung from 
floor to roof in the great bathroom. After 
his douche the miner makes a bundle of 







his clothes, pulls the cord, and up they go, 
where they dry in the warm air, out of the 
way until he wants them again. Nothing 
could be more practical and effective* 

An army of workers — some six hundred 
strong — was taking places in the odd- little 
train of wooden boxes drawn by a compressed 
air locomotive, which was to carry us into 
the tunnel. This locomotive is of such an 
extraordinary appearance that it baffles 
description, but an excellent idea of it may 
be obtained from the illustration. To the 
shriek of a whistle wl j started, rumbling over 
the wooden bridge across the Diveria and 
plunging suddenly into a roaring darkness, 
lighted only by the orange spots of our glow- 
worm lamps, which cast an uncertain illumina- 
tion upon the egg shaped interior of the great 
tunnel, lined with massive masonry. From 
rails to roof is some sixteen feet high ; on the 
line of rails the tunnel is fifteen feet wide. 
We were entering the tunnel not by the 
mouth which I had seen earlier in the day — 
the mouth that will be used by the trains 
when the work is all finished — but by what is 
called the " gallery of direction," The general 
direction of the tunnel is a 
straight line, but at each end 
there is a short curve, where 
it runs out into the valleys 
of the Rhone and the 
Diveria. For engineering 
purposes, however, the tun- 
nel has been prolonged at 
each end by a straight line 
coming out into the open 
air, and it is these straight 
ends which are at present 
used for gaining access* 

The air was wonderfully 
pure. Respiration was quite 
normal^ nor was there much 
heat As we rumbled on 
1 plied Herr Pressel with 
questions, " How can you 
tell," I asked him, "that 
when you have bored right 
through and meet your 
Swiss friends the tunnel will be in a straight 
line ? Suppose the two ends do not meet 
correctly ? " Herr Pressel laughed, and so 
did Engineer Muzzam, who sat with us. 
" No fear of that," said the engineer-inchief ; 
" our measurements are too accurately taken. 
Before anything else was done, a great system 
of triangulation was carried out across the 
mountains to determine the exact axis of the 
tunnel. We are able to work always exactly 
on that line. I will show you when we get 

Digitized by G* 

out again a little round house which stands 
across the river exactly opposite the gallery 
of direction." (See the photograph given 
below-) "There is a similar house at 
Brigue, lying precisely in a straight line with 
ours here. Each contains a finely-graduated 
theodolite fixed on a stone base, and from 
those little houses our line is taken. In case 
there should be any error, the measurements 
are verified twice every year. You may take 
it from me that the two ends of the tunnel 
will meet exactly — well, there may be an 
error of perhaps two inches, not more. But 
even if there were a greater error than that 
it would be a matter of small importance, for 
it would only mean enlarging the area of the 

The train slowed down* We had pene- 
trated a long way. The lining masonry had 
and we were passing 
a framework of great 
A boy walked in front 

come to an end, 
can t i ou sly through 
baulks of timber. 

of the train, blowing on a horn to warn the 
men. It was 'here, Herr Pressel explained, 
that there had been much trouble with w T ater, 
as 1 should see later. Passing the dangerous 



place we went on quickly again, and presently 
drew up, amid many glimmering lights, to 
find six hundred exhausted men waiting to 
go out. Our men tumbled out of their 
boxes; instantly the others tumbled in, and 
almost on the moment most of them fell fast 
asleep, I have seen nothing stranger than 
this train-load of exhausted labour deep in 
the heart of the Alps, Most of the men 
were naked to the waist, and their olive 
skin glistened in the light of the twinkling 





From <t Fkuto. 

lamps. Some slept on their folded arms, 
others leaned on the shoulders of their com- 
rades, their swarthy, bearded faces smoothed 
into unconsciousness, many snoring ster- 
torously, with wide-open mouths, 

A short walk took us to the head working 
of the tunnel, where a little group was 
clustered round the drills. Herr Pressel 
received reports from Herr Hans Beissner, 
the engineer in charge of the perforation, 
while I looked about nne. Here one could 
scarcely stand upright. From wall to wall of 
the little gallery was wedged a column of iron 
on to which were braced three of the 
famous Brandt hydraulic drills. These 
ingenious implements, working at one 
thousand five hundred pounds pressure 
to the square inch, push forward a long 
drill in the form of a tube ending In three 
prongs. With a hydraulic pressure of 
six tons behind it, the drills grind into 
the" rock, a Streatn of cool water mean- 
while Rowing through them. Three of 
these drills, each of two and a half 
inches in diameter, are always at work 
at the tunnel head 3 which is here some 
three yards wide. 

But the drills stop. They have bored 
the nine firing-holes, about six feet 
deep, and it is time to blast. There is 
a delay while the drills are drawn back. 
A foreman puts cartridges of blasting 
gelatine into each hole, and lights a fuse 
which burns two minutes. There is 
good time to run to the nearest traverse 

and wait Hud- 
dled shoulder to 
shoulder we stand 
expectant, talking 
only in whispers. 
Suddenly there is 
a terrific detona- 
tion ; another and 
another. All count 
eagerly to hear it 
the nine shots have 
been fired, and no 
one moves for 
several minutes in 
case there may he 
a miss-fire. (Not 
long since, as a 
foreman was walk- 
ing forward too 
soon to see the 
result of a blast, a 
belated mine went 
off and blew out 
his eyes, It was 
one of the few serious accidents that 
have happened during the work,) At last 
we run forward. There is "a great heap of 
dil*ris where the drills stood, for simul- 
taneously with the explosion a torrent of 
nine hundred gallons of water is hurled by 
compressed air at the rock -face, cooling it, 
and washing clown the loose masses of rock. 
As soon as this can be cleared away the 
drills are pushed forward again ; and six to 
eight times in the twenty-four hours this 
process should be related. The subsequent 
enlargement of the gallery to the full size of 



by Google 




the tunnel is done by hand drills and hand 

Returning now with Engineer Muznni to 
the dangerous place where the train slowed 
down on coming in, I was to learn something 
of the enormous difficulties with which the 
engineers have had to contend. Instead of 
solid rock the mountain is here composed 
of loose schist. You can take it in handfuls. 
It is wet and soft, glittering with flakes of 
mica, and when a way is opened through 
it, it must be shored up at once with wood, 
or it will slide down and bury the workers. 

To force the tunnel through this treacherous 
ground it has been necessary 
to build a cage of iron plates 
strengthened with girders. 
This is carried into the tunnel 
and pushed through the ex- 
cavated schist. But the dimen- 
sions of the cage are much less 
than those of the completed 
tunnel. How, then, to enlarge 
the tunnel to its proper size? 
By a method highly ingenious, 
and the only one that can be 
used in the circumstances ; 
but extremely expensive and 
extremely laborious. Secure in 
the cage, the workmen remove 
its plates one by one and dig 
outwards into the crumbling 
schist. As soon as there is 
room enough they push out, 
into the hole they have made, 
a curved stone. One stone in 
place, another iron plate is taken away and 
another stone pushed outwards into the heart 
of the mountain. Thus, with infinite toil, 
there is built up round the cage a skin of 
solid masonry. But this is only provisional, 
for the tunnel is not yet nearly large enough. 
Each stone must, therefore, be taken away- 
one by one, a further excavation into the 
mountain must be made* and another pre 
pared stone be pushed out into the place, 
until at length the vault has its full height. 
Underfoot the same thing is done, the 
masonry in this treacherous place being, of 
course, of a much greater thickness than in 
the rocky parts of the tunnel. Like the 
skins of an onion, these ponderous stones lie 
one outside the other ; and for extra strength 
ihey are placed end to end in what the 
French call the " sytfeme anglais." Small 
wonder that eight months were occupied in 
passing through forty-six yards of this 
ground ; and Hcrr I Vessel estimates that a 
year and a half will be occupied in the total 


enlargement of this same length, at a cost of 
forty thousand pounds. 

With M. Muxzani I hoisted myself up 
through a maze of timber haulks to the place 
where workmen, naked to the waist, were 
placing the stones in position. Six or seven 
men were working crouched together in a 
small space. As soon as a hole was dug into 
the schist, hoards supported by thrusts were 
pushed forward to keep the rest of the stuff 
from sliding down, Then a stone was hauled 
up by pulleys from below, and with precise 
care was fitted into its place. " One must 
be quick at this work," said one sweating 



Italian to me, (1 If you don't board up this 
stuff quickly, there may be a cave-in which 
would bury us all," 

- From the main tunnel we went by one of 
the traverses into the parallel gallery to see 
the water which has caused such infinite 
mischief and expense, All these traverses 
are closed by heavy iron doors, and to open 
them against the rush of air that pours 
through the gallery from the gigantic fan 
outside is almost impossible, To meet this 
difficulty a little door about a foot square is 
fitted into the large ones, and on opening 
this a cataract of wind rushes through with a 
loud whistling. The air pressure thus re- 
lieved, a strong push with the shoulder will 
open the door and allow one to pass into the 
smaller gallery. Here, so different is the 
barometric pressure, a curious tingling buzzes 
in the ears and sounds become louder. The 
black hollow was filled with commanding 
noises. With t v ~ wild rush of the wind 
there mingled the roar of falling waters ; and 
Original from 




presently, waving my lamp from side to side, 
I could see that cascades were rushing into 
the gallery from fissures in the rock. It was 
one of the most curious sights imaginable. 

Most of the rock through which the tunnel 
passes is volcanic, containing no fossils, no 
human remains. Sometimes, Herr Pressel 
told me, a curious thing happened. The 
rocks in the gneiss exploded spontaneously. 
He attributed this either to the relaxation 
of a bend in a stratum, the rocks being shot 
forward as by a spring, or to the sudden 
introduction of a much lower temperature, 
Whatever the cause, it is not unusual for 
the advancing miners to be received with a 
fusillade of stones, as if the Genius of the 
Mountain were protesting against the dis- 
turbance of his eternal sleep. But the water 
difficulty was wholly unexpected. It is 
probable that there is some curving of the 
strata unknown to the geologists, which has 
enabled the water to run inwards and collect 
in cavities in the mountain instead of draining 
down its sides. Whether the torrents now 




pouring into the tunnel will in time exhaust 
themselves when they have drained some 
subterranean lake, no one can say. One 
strange fact is that springs as far away as 
the canline by the bridge in the Gorge of 
Gondo, on the Simplon Pass, have dried up 
since the water burst into the tunnel 

I was eager to get a photograph of these 
destructive torrents, but the conditions were 
as unfavourable as one could well imagine. 
Water fell from all parts of the roof and 
walls, dripped down my neck> into the camera, 
and fell hissing into our lamps. There was 
not a dry spot to which to attach the mag^ 
nesium powders. The first two failed to light, 
but M, Muzzani carefully protected the last 
one with his hands and managed to fix it to a 
nail in a baulk of wood. To light a match in 
that roaring wind was no easy matter, but the 
skilful engineer succeeded, I had the shutter 
open and the camera directed towards the 
principal torrent. The magnesium caught fire, 
and, for a flashing second, revealed the wonder- 
ful scene in all its detail, 1 scarcely dared 
to hope that I had secured 
a good negative \ yet when 
it came to be developed it 
was excellent. Seldom has 
a photograph been taken in 
stranger surroundings. 

Some five hours we spent 
in the tunnel, a mountain 
seven thousand feet high 
above our heads ; and when 
at last we rumbled out again 
into the sunlight my mind 
was full of wonder at what I 
had seen. For a last strange 
impression I was taken to 
the great fan that ventilates 
the tunnel. This monstrous 
engine revolves with in- 
credible speed at the end of 
a short gallery. The fan itself 
is hidden ; all that one sees 
is a polished steel shaft. You 
enter the gallery and suddenly 
you are caught in a mighty 
rush of air. You spread out 
your hands against the walls, 
your feet slip upon the con- 
crete floor ; it is only by the 
exercise of all your strength 
that you manage to turn and 
struggle out against the blast, 
gasping for breath. It is a 
very nightmare of a place, 
like some wild and impos- 
sible thing in a story of Poe. 



The Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt, 

Copyright, T9os + by George Newijes, Limited. 

CHAPTER XL — A Swindling Grotto — An t Exhibition ok Jewels — A Tuain 

RouiiEk — Vaillant thk Anarchist — A Narrow Escape. 

IE stayed at St. Louis for a 
week from the 24th of Janu- 
ary. I must admit that this 
city, which was specially 
French, was less to my liking 
than the other American 
cities, as it was dirty and the hotels were 
not very comfortable. Since then St- Ixmis 
has made great strides, but it was the 
Germans who planted there the bulb of 
progress. At the time of which I speak, 
the year 1881, the city was repulsively dirty. 
In those days, alas ! we were not great at 
colonizing, and ail the cities where French 
influence preponderated were poor and 
behind the times. I was 
bored to death at St. Louis, 
and I wanted to leave the 
place at once, after paying 
the indemnity to the man- 
ager, but Jarrett, the up- 
right man t the stern man of 
duty^ the ferocious man, 
said to me, holding the con- 
tract in his hand : - 

" No, mad a me, you must 
stay. You can die of emiui 
here, if you like, but stay 
you must," 

By way of entertaining 
me he took me to a cele- 
brated grotto, where we 
were to see some millions 
of fish without eyes. The 
light had never penetrated 
into this grotto, and, as the 
first fish that lived there 
had no use for their eyes, 
their descendants had no 
eyes at all After a long 
drive we got out of the 
carriage and groped our 
way to the grotto, very 
cautiously, on all fours, like 
cats. The road seemed to 
me interminable ; but at 
last the guide told us that 
we had arrived at our des- 
tination. We were able to 
stand upright again, as the 
grotto itself was higher. I 
could see nothing, but 

V 0I . „,„.-». 

I heard a match being struck, and the guide 
then lighted a small lantern, Just in front 
of me, nearly at tny feet, was a rather deep 
natural basin, 

u You see," remarked our guide, phleg- 
matieally, u that is the pond, but just at present 
there is no water in it, neither are there any 
fish ; you must come again in three months' 

Jarrett made such a fearful grimace that 
I was seized with an uncontrollable lit of 
laughter -that kind of laughter which borders 
on madness : I was suffocated with it, and 
I hiccoughed and laughed till the tears 
came. I then went down into the basin of 

<-iF. hWipjJUf UK TWK fiKOTTpt OK ST. |,I*V1S. 

TJuyirial TrOTM 




the pond in search of a relic of some kind* a 
little skeleton of a dead fish, or anything, no 
matter what. There was nothing to be 
found, however, absolutely nothing. We had 
to return on all fours as we came. I made 
I arret t go first, and the sight of his big hack 
in his fur rout, and or" him walking f>n 
hands and feet, grumbling and swearing as 
he went, gave me such delight that I no 
longer regretted anything, and I gave ten 
dollars to the guide, to his unspeakable 

We returned to the hotel, and I was 
informed that a jeweller had been waiting for 
me more than two hours, "A jeweller ! Jf I 
exclaimed. '* Hut I have no intention of buv- 

was of no use. Jarrett assured me that the 
ladies of St. Louis were particularly fond of 
shows of this kind. He said it would be an 
excellent advertisement — that my jewellery 
was very much tarnished, that several stones 
were missing, and that this man would re- 
place them for nothing. M What a saving ! n 
he added " Just think of it." 

I gave up, for discussions of that kind 
injivil iiu- to death : and two days later tin- 
ladies of St, Louis went to admire my orna- 
ments in this jeweller's show-cases under a 
blaze of light. Poor Mme. Guerard, who 
also wanted to see them, came back horrified. 

u They have added to your things, 71 she 
said, M sixteen [>airs of earrings, two neck- 


ing any jewellery ; I have too much as it is," 
JurreLt, however, winked at Abbey, who was 
there as we entered. I saw at once that 
there was some understanding between the 
jeweller and my two impresari!, 1 was told 
that my ornaments needed cleaning, that the 
jeweller would undertake to make them look 
like new, repair them if they required it, and, 
in a word* exhibit them. I rebelled, but it 

Digitized by GoOglc 

laces, thirty rings, a lorgnette all diamonds 
and rubies, a gold cigarette-holder set with 
turquoises, u small pipe, the amber mouth- 
piece of which is encircled with diamond 
stars, sixteen bracelets, a toothpick studded 
with sapphires, and a [>air of spectacles with 
«4old mounts, tipped with small acorns of 

u Thev must have .been made specially/* 
Original from 




said poor Gu^rard, " for there can't be any- 
one who would wear such glasses, and on 
them were written the words, * Spectacles 
which Mme. Sarah Bernhardt wears when 
she is at home/ " 

I certainly thought that this was exceeding 
all the limits allowed to advertisement. To 
make me smoke pipes and wear spectacles 
was going rather too far, and I got into my 
carriage and drove at once to the jeweller's. 
I arrived just in time to find the place closed. 
It was five o'clock on Saturday afternoon, the 
lights were out, and everything was dark and 
silent. I returned to the hotel and spoke to 
Jarrett of my annoyance. 

II What does it all matter, madame ? " he 
said, tranquilly ; " so many girls wear spec- 
tacles ; and as to the pipe, the jeweller tells 
me it has already brought him five orders, 
and that it is going to be quite the fashion. 
Anyhow, it is of no use worrying about the 
matter, as the exhibition is now over, your 
jewellery will be returned to-night, and we 
leave here the day after to-morrow." 

That evening the jeweller returned all the 
objects I had lent him, and they had been 
polished and repaired, so that they looked 
quite new. He had included with them a 
gold cigarette-holder set with turquoises, the 
very one that had been on view. I simply 
could not make that man understand any- 
thing, and my anger cooled down when 
cortfronted by his pleasant manner and 
his joy 

This advertisement, however, came very 
near costing me my life. Tempted by the 
thought of this huge quantity of jewellery, 
the greater part of which did not belong to 
me, a little band of sharpers planned to rob 
me, believing that they would find all these 
valuables . in : the large hand-bag which my 
steward always carried. 

On Sunday, the 30th of January, we left 
St. Louis at ' eight o'clock in the morning for 
Cincinnati. I was in my magnificently- 
appointed Pullman car, and I had requested 
that my private suite — consisting of my bed- 
room, saloon, and the compartment contain- 
ing the three beds of my attendants, and the 
kitchen — should be put at the end of our 
special train, so that, from the platform, I 
might enjoy the beauty of the landscape, 
which passes before one like a continually- 
changing living panorama. 

We had scarcely been more than ten 
minutes en route when the guard suddenly 
stooped down and looked ovei the little 
balcony. He then drew back quickly, and 
his face turned pale. Seizing my hand, he 

by L^OOgle 

said, in a very anxious tone, in English, 
" Please go inside, madame." I understood 
that we were in danger of some kind. He 
pulled the alarm signal, made a sign to 
another guard, and, before the train had 
quite come to a standstill, the two men 
sprang down and disappeared under the 
train. The guard had fired a revolver in 
order to attract everyone's attention, and 
Jarrett, Abbey, and the artistes hurried out 
into the narrow corridor. I found myself in 
the midst of them, and to our stupefaction 
we saw the two guards dragging out from 
underneath my compartment a man armed 
to the teeth. 

With a revolver held to his temple on 
either side, he decided to confess the truth 
of the matter. The jeweller's exhibition had 
excited the envy of all the tribes of thieves, 
and this man had been dispatched by an 
organized band at St. Louis to relieve me of 
my jewellery. He was to unhook my carriage 
from the rest of the train between St. Louis 
and Cincinnati, at a certain spot known as 
the "Little Incline." 

As this was to be done during the night, 
and my carriage was the last, the thing was 
comparatively easy, as it was only a question 
of lifting the enormous hook and drawing it 
out of the link. The man was a veritable 
giant and he was fastened on to my carriage. 
We examined his apparatus and found that 
it consisted of merely very thick straps of 
leather, about half a yard wide. By means 
of these he was fastened firmly to the under 
part of the ■ train, with his hands perfectly 
free. The courage and the coolness of that 
man were admirable. He told us that seven 
armed men were waiting for us at the " Little 
Incline," and that they certainly would not 
have injured us if we had not attempted to 
resist, for all they wanted was my jewellery 
and the money which the secretary carried — 
two thousand three hundred dollars. Oh, 
he knew everything ; he knew everyone's 
name, and he gabbled on in bad French : 
" Oh, as for you, madame, we should not 
have done you any harm, in spite of your 
pretty little revolver. We should even have 
let you keep it." 

And so this man and his band knew that 
the secretary slept at my end of the train, and 
that he was not much to be dreaded, poor 
man ; that he had with him two thousand 
three hundred dollars, and that I had a very 
prettily chased revolver ornamented with 
cat's-eyes. The man was firmly bound and 
taken in charge by the two guards, and 
the train was then backed to St. Louis, 


J 7 : 



from which we had only started a quarter 
of an hour before. The police were informed 
and they sent us five detectives. A goods 
train, which should have followed u* in half 
an hour, was now sent on ahead. Eight 
detectives travelled on this goods train and 
received orders to get out at the "Little 
Incline." Our giant was handed over to the 
police authorities, but I was promised that 
he should be dealt with mercifully on account 
of the confession he had made. Later on I 
learnt that this promise had been kept, as the 
man was sent back to his native country, 

From this time forth my compartment 
was always placed between two others every 
night In the daytime I was allowed to have 
my carriage at the end on condition that 
I would agree to have an armed detective 
on my bridge, whom I was to pay for his 
services. We started about twenty -live 
minutes after the goods train. All the men 
were requested to have iheir revolvers in 
readiness, and some white sticks like pastry - 
rollers were given to the women and to tin 1 
men who had not any revolvers. Our dinner 
was very gay and everyone was rather excited. 
As to the guard who had discovered the 
giant hidden under the train, Abbey and I 
had rewarded him so lavishly that he was 
intoxicated, and kept coming on every occa- 
sion to kiss my hand and weep his drunkard's 

Digitized by GoOglc 

tears, repeating 
all the time, " I 
saved the French 
lady: I'm a 

When, finally, 
we approached 
the " Little In- 
cline '- it was 
dark. The engine- 
driver wanted to 
rush along at full 
speed, but we 
had not gone 
live miles when 
petards exploded 
under the wheels 
a n d w e w e r e 
obliged to slack en 
our pace. We 
wondered what 
new danger there 
was awaiting us, 
and we began to 
feel anxious. 
The w o m e n 
were nervous 
and some of them were in tears. We 
went along slowly, peering into the dark- 
ness, trying to make out the form of a man. 
Abbey suggested that we should go at full 
speed, because these petards had been placed 
along the line by the bandits, who had 
probably thought of some way of stopping 
the train in case their giant did not succeed 
in unhooking the carriage* The engine- 
driver refused to go more quickly, declaring 
that these petards were signals placed there 
by the railway company, and that he could 
not risk everyone's life on a mere supposition, 
The man was quite right, and he was 
certainly very brave. 

M We can certainly settle a handful of 
ruffians," he said, " but I could not answer 
for everyone's life if the train went off the 
lines, collided with something, or went over 
a precipice/' 

We continued, therefore, to go slowly. 
The lights had been turned off in the car, so 
that we might see as much as possible with- 
out being seen ourselves. We had tried to 
keep the truth from the artistes, except from 
three men whom I had sent for to my 
carriage- The artistes really had nothing to 
fear from the robbers, as I was the only 
person at whom they were aiming. To 
avoid all unnecessary questions and evasive 
answers, we sent the secretary to tell them 
that as there was some obstruction on the 




line the train had to go slowly. They were 
also told that one of the gas-pipes had to be 
repaired before we could have the light 
again. The communication was then cut 
between my car and the rest of the train. 

We had been going along like this for 
perhaps ten minutes, when everything was 
suddenly lighted up by a fire, and we saw a 
gang of railway men hastening towards us. 
It makes me shudder now when I think how 
nearly these poor fellows escaped being killed. 
Our nerves had been in such a state of 
tension for several hours that we imagined at 
first that these men were the wretched friends 
of the giant. Someone fired at them, and if 
it had not been for our plucky engine-driver 
calling out to them to stop, with the addition 
of a terrible oath, two or three of these poor 
men would have been wounded. 

I, too, had seized my revolver, but before 
1 could have drawn out the ramrod which 
serves as a cog to prevent it from going off, 
anyone would have had time to seize me, 
bind me, and kill me a hundred times over. 
Yet, whenever I go to a place where I think 
there is danger, I invariably take my pistol 
with me — for, to speak accurately, it is a 
pistol and not a revolver. I always call it a 
revolver, but in reality it is a pistol, and a 
very old-fashioned make too, with a trigger 
so hard to pull that I have to use both hands. 
I am not a bad shot, for a woman, provided 
that I may take my time, but this is not very 
easy when one wants to fire at a robber. 
And yet I always have my pistol with me ; 
it is here on my table, and I can see it as I 
write. It is in its case, which is rather too 
tight, so that it requires a certain amount of 
strength and patience to pull it out. If an 
assassin should arrive at this particular 
moment I should first have to unfasten the 
case, which is no easy matter, then to get 
the pistol out, pull out the ramrod, which is 
rather too firm, and press the trigger with 
both hands. And yet, in spite of all this, 
the human animal is so strange that this little, 
ridiculously useless object here before me 
seems to me an admirable protection. And, 
nervous and timid as I am, I feel quite safe 
when I am near to this tiny friend of mine, 
who must roar with laughter inside the little 
case, out of which I can scarcely drag it. 

Well, everything was now explained to us. 
The goods train which had started before 
us ran off the line, but no great damage was 
done and no one was killed. The St. Louis 
band of robbers had arranged everything, 
and had prepared to have this little accident 
two miles from the " Little Incline," in case 

Digitized by dOOQ IC 

their comrade, crouching under my car, had 
not been able to unhook it. The train had 
left the rails ; but when the wretches rushed 
forward, believing that it was mine, they 
found themselves surrounded by the band of 
detectives. It seems that they fought like 
demons. One of them was killed on the 
spot, two were wounded, and all the others 
taken prisoners. A few days later the chief 
of this little band was hanged. He was a 
Belgian, named Albert Wirby, twenty -five 
years of age. 

I did all in my power to save him, for it 
seemed to me that, unintentionally, I had 
been the instigator of his evil plan. If Abbey 
and Jarrett had not been so rabid for adver- 
tisement, if they had not added more than 
six hundred thousand francs' worth of jewel- 
lery to mine, this man, this wretched youth, 
would not, perhaps, have had the stupid idea 
of robbing me. To steal the goods of another 
person is certainly not right, but this should 
not be punished by death. To kill a man of 
twenty-five years of age is a much greater 
crime than to steal jewellery even by force. 

Ah ! how I hate capital punishment ! It 
is a relic of cowardly barbarism, and it is a 
disgrace for civilized countries to still have 
their guillotines and scaffolds. Every human 
being has a moment when his heart is easily 
touched, when the tears of grief will flow, 
and those tears may lead to repentance. 
Ah ! I would not for the whole world be one 
of those who condemn a man to death. And 
yet many of them are good, upright men, 
who, when they return to their family, are 
affectionate to their wives, and who will 
reprove their children for breaking a doll's 

I have seen four executions : one in 
London, one in Spain, and two in Paris. 

In London it is done by hanging, and this 
seems to me more hideous, more repugnant, 
more weird than any other death. 

In Madrid I saw a man garrotted, and the 
barbarity of this torture terrified me for 
weeks after. He was accused of having 
killed his mother, but no real proof seemed 
to have been brought forward against the 
wretched man. And he cried out when they 
were holding him down on his seat before 
putting the garrotte on him • ** Mother, I 
shall soon be with you, and you will tell them 
before me that they have lied/' 

These words were uttered in Spanish in a 
voice that vibrated with earnestness. They 
were translated for me by an Attache to the 
British Embassy with whom I had gone to 
see the hideous sight. The wretched man 




cried out in such a sincere, heartrending 
tone of voice that it was impossible for him 
not to have been innocent, and this was the 
opinion of all those who were with me. 

The two other executions which I wit- 
nessed were at the Place de la Roquet te, 
Paris, One was that of a young medical 
student, I think, who, with the help of one 
of his friends, had killed an old woman who 
sold newspapers. It was a stupid, odious 
crime, but the man was more mad than 
criminal. He was more than ordinarily 
intelligent, and had passed his examinations 
at an earlier age than is usual He had 
worked too hard and it had affected his 
brain. He ought to have been allowed to 
rest, to have been treated as an invalid, cured 
in mind and body, and then returned to his 
scientific pursuits. I consider that a crime of 
high treason 
against human- 
ity was com- 
mitted in tak- 
ing the life of 
a man of in- 
tellect, who, 
when once he 
had recovered 
his reason, 
might have 
rendered great 
service to 
science and to 

The' last 
execution at 
which I was 
present was 
that of Vail- 
lant, the An- 
archist. He 
was an ener- 
getic man, and 
at the same 
time mild and 
gentle, with 
very advanced 
ideas, but not 

much more advanced than those of men who 
have since risen to power. 

My theatre at that time was the Renais- 
sance, and he often applied to me for free 
seats, as he was too poor to pay lor the 
luxuries of Art Ah ! poverty, what a sorry 
counsellor it is, and how tolerant we ought 
to be to those who have to endure misery ! 

One day Vaillant came to see me in my 
dressing-room at the theatre. I was playing 
Lorenzaccio, and he said to me : " Ah ! that 


by dOOglC 

Florentine was an Anarchist just as I am, but 
he killed the tyrant and not tyranny. That 
is not the way I shall go to work." 

A few days later he threw a bomb in a 
public building, the Chamber of Deputies. 
The poor fellow was not so successful as the 
Florentine whom he seemed to despise, for 
he did not kill anyone and did no real ha M m 
except to his own cause, 

I said I should like to know when he was 
to be executed, and the night before a friend 
of mine came to the theatre and told me that 
the execution was to take place the following 
day, Monday, at seven in the morning, I 
started after the performance and went to the 
Rue Merlin, at the corner of the Rue de la 
Roquette. The streets were still very animated, 
as it was Shrove Sunday, People' were sing- 
ing, laughing, and dancing everywhere. I 

waited all night, 
and, as I was 
not allowed to 
enter the 
prison, I sat 
on the balcony 
of a first-floor 
flat which I 
had engaged. 
The cold dark- 
ness of the 
night in its 
seemed to en- 
wrap me in 

I did not 
feel the cold, 
for my bl<x>d 
was flowing 
rapidly through 
my veins, The 
hours passed 
slowly, the 
hours which 
rang out in 
the distance, 
** I/heure est 
morte. Vive 
1 heure ! 75 I heard a vague muffled sound of 
footsteps, of whispering, and of wood which 
creaked heavily, but I did not know what these 
strange, mysterious sounds were until day 
began to break, Then I saw the scaffold. 
A man came to extinguish the lamps on the 
Place de la Roquette, and the sky spread its 
pale light over tis. The crowd began to 
collect gradually, but remained in compact 
groups, and circulation in the streets was 
interrupted. Every now and then a man, 
Original from 





looking quite indifferent but evidently in a 
hurry, pushed aside the crowd, presented a 
card to a policeman, and then disappeared 
under the porch of the prison, I counted 
more than ten of these men : they were 
journalists. Presently the military guard 
appeared suddenly on the spot, and took up 
its position around the melancholy-looking 
pedestal The usual munlier of the guard 
had been doubled lor this occasion, as some 
Anarchist plot was feared* On u given signal 
swords were drawn and the prison - door 

Vaillant appeared looking very pale, but 
energetic and brave. He* cried out in a 
manly voice, with perfect assurance, "Vive 
I' Anarchic! n There was not a single cry in 
response to his. He was seized and thrown 
l*ack over the slab. The knife fell with a 
muffled sound. The body tottered, ami in 
a second the scaffold was taken away, the place 
swept, and the crowds were allowed to move. 
They rushed forward to the place of execu- 
tion. 'There were women, children, old men 

all joking there on the very sjXJt where a 
man had just expired. And that man had 
made himself the apostle of this populace ; 
that man had claimed for this teeming 
crowd all kinds of liberties* all kinds 
of privileges and rights. Thickly veiled, 
so that I could not be recognised, anil 
accompanied by a friend as escort, 1 
mingled with the crowd, and it made me sick 
at heart There was not a word of gratitude 
to this man, not a murmur of vengeance nor 

Digitized by G 

of revolt, I felt in- 
clined to cry out, 
" Brutes that you 
are, kneel down and 
kiss the stones that 
the blood of this 
poor madman has 
stained for your 
sakes — for you, be- 
cause he believed in 

But before I had 

time for this a street 

urchin was calling 

out : ** Buy the last 

moments of Vaillant 

buy, buy ! " 

Oh, poor Vaillant! 

His headless body 

was then being taken 

to (laman, and the 

crowds for whom he 

bad wept, worked, 

and died were now 

going quietly away, indifferent and bored. 

Poor Vaillant, his ideas were exaggerated, 

but they were generous. 

We arrived at Cincinnati safe and sound. 
We gave three performances there and set 
olT once more for New Orleans. Now, I 
thought, we shall have some sunshine and we 
shall be able to warm our poor limbs, which 
were stiffened with three months of mortal 
cold. We shall be able to open our windows 
and breathe fresh air, instead of the suffocating 
and enervating steam heat- I fell asleep, and 
dreams of warmth and sweet scents lulled 
me in my slumber. A knock roused me 
suddenly, and my dog, with ears erect, 
sniffed at the door, but as he did not growl I 
knew it was someone of our party. I opened 
the door, and Jarrett, followed by Abbey, 
made signs to me not to speak. They 
came in on tip-toes and closed the door 

L< Well, what is it now ? '* I asked. 

41 Whj\" replied Jarrett, "the rain has 
swollen I^ake 1'ontehartrain to such a decree 
that we cannot cross. We shall have to go 
by another route that will take us four, five, 
or six days." 

I was furious. Five or six days, and to 
go back to the snow again ! Ah ! no : 1 felt 
I must have sunshine. 

k ' Why can we not pass ? Has the bridge 
given way ? ' I asked. 

" Not yet, but it is bending and shaking 

with the terrible force of the water/ 1 
Original from 




"Oh, heavens, what shall we do?" I 

" Well, the engine-driver is here. He 
thinks that he might get across, but he has 
only just been married, and he will not try 
the crossing except on condition that you 
give him two thousand five hundred dollars, 
which he will at once send to Mobile, where 
his father and wife live. If we get safely to 
the other side he will give you back this 
money, but if not it will belong to his family." 

I must confess that 1 was stupefied with 
admiration of this honest man. His daring 
excited me, and I exclaimed : — 

" Yes , certainly; give him the money and 
let us cross." 

As I have said, I generally travelled by 

train had started, and at a terrific speed it 
touched the bridge* I had taken my seat 
on the platform, and the bridge bent and 
swayed like a hammock under the dizzy 
speed of our wild course. When we were 
half-way across it gave way so much that my 
sister grasped my arm and whispered) *' Ah ! 
we arc drowning : " She closed her eyes 
and clutched me nervously, but was quite 
brave. I certainly thought, as she did, that 
the supreme moment had arrived, and, 
abominable as it was, I never for a second 
thought of all those who were full of con- 
fidence and life whom 1 was sacrificing, 
whom I was killing. My only thought was 
of a dear little face which would soon be 
mourning for me. 


special train. This one was made up of only 
three carriages and the engine* I never 
doubted few a moment as to the success of 
this foolish and criminal attempt, and I did 
not tell anyone about it except my sister, my 
beloved GueYard, and my faithful Felicia and 
her husband Claude. The actor, Angelo, 
who was sleeping in Jarrett's berth on this 
journey, knew of it, but he was courageous 
and had faith in his star. The money was 
handed over to the engine-driver, who sent 
it off to Mobile. It was only just as we 
were actually starting that I began to realise 
the responsibility I had taken upon myself, 
for it was risking, without their consent, the 
lives of twenty- seven persons. . , 

It was too late then to do anything ^the 

(To he 

by Google 

My last minute, however, was not inscribed 
in the Rook of Destiny for that day. The 
train pulled itself together, and half leaping 
and half rolling along we arrived at the other 
side of the water. Behind us we heard a 
terrible noise, a column of water falling back 
like a cataract The bridge had given way. 
For. more than a week the trains from 
the east and the north could not enter the 

- My conscience was by no means tranquil, 
and for a long time my sleep was disturbed 
by the most frightful nightmares, and when 
any of the artistes spoke to me of their 
child, their mother, or their husband, whom 
they longed to see once more, I felt my sell 
turn pale* 
concluded. ) 

Original from 

The Overcrowded Iceberg. 

By Morley Roberts. 

HERE was a deal of ice about, 
and it came streaming south, 
in all kinds of shapes, right 
into the track of ships. There 
were flat -topped bergs and 
ice-fields, and there were all 
kinds of pinnacled danger-traps, which were 
obviously ready to turn turtle and load up 
any unwary steamer with more ice than she 
would ever require to make cocktails with. 
That year ice was reported in great quantities 
so far south as latitude forty, and there is 
every reason to believe that there was more 
ice run into than was ever reported by one 
unlucky liner and five tramps which were 
posted at Lloyd's as " missing." The Western 
Ocean is a no peace-at-any-price body of water, 
and it tries those who sail it as high as any sea 
in the world ; but when the Arctic turns itself 
loose, and empties its refrigerator into the 
ocean fairway, it becomes what seamen call " a 
holy terror." For ice brings fog, and fog is 
the real sea-devil, worse than any wind that 
blows. It was a remarkable thing in such 
circumstances that Captain Harry Sharpness 
Spink, of Glo'ster, preserved his equanimity. 
As Ward, the mate of the Swan of Avon, 
said, he wasn't likely to preserve the Swart. 

" Dry up, Ward," said his commanding 
officer — " be so good as to dry up. When I 
require your advice to run the Swan Til let 
you know ; but in the meantime any un- 
called-for jaw on that or any other subject 
will make me very cross. Ice or no ice, Pm 
goin' at my speed, not yours. I ain't called 
on to explain to a subordinate my idea in 
runnin' full speed through this fog and ice ; 
but out of more regard for your feelings than 
you ever show for mine, I don't mind reveal- 
in' to vou that Pm trusting to my luck." 
"Your luck?" 

"Yes, my luck," replied Spink, with great 
firmness. " I've been thinkin' of it a lot this 
trip, and come to the conclusion that I've 
more solid luck than any man I know in- 
timate, to say nothing of my commandin' a 
rust and putty kerosene can like this old 
tramp at the age of thirty, when you that can 
lick me in a scrap have to be my mate, 

Vol. xxix.-23. 

though you're older. W T hat I've been pon- 
derin' over chiefly is my very remarkable luck 
in never having been caught for a permanency 
by any of the ladies that have been after me." 

" They haven't lost much," said Ward, dis- 
courteously, "and I reckon that you are mis- 
took when you think you're that enticing that 
women hankers to drag you in by the hair of 
your head and kiss you by force." 

" I never said so," replied Spink, " but the 
fact remains that Pm not married." 

"You're a selfish beast, Spink, and I 
sincerely hope you'll be married before you're 
through," said Ward. 

" You are the most insolent mate I ever 
had," replied Spink, " and the most unfeelin'. 
Did you hear a foghorn ? " 

Though it was in the middle of the fore- 
noon watch it was pretty nearly as dark off, 
the Banks as it would have been inside a, 
dock warehouse, for the fog was as thick as 
a blanket. The rail and the decks were 
slimy with it, and the skipper and his mate| 
were as wet as if it had been raining. The 
fog came swirling in thick wreaths and some- 
times half choked them. The wind from 
the north-east was light but very cold, as if 
it blew off the face of an iceberg, as it pro- 
bably did. The Swan had an air of thorough 
discomfort, and in spite of it was steaming 
into the west at her best speed of nine knots 
an hour. 

It is no wonder that Spink and Ward 
quarrelled ; there was hardly a soul on board 
who was not in a bad temper. Nothing 
disturbs seamen so much as fog, and the fact 
that Spink refused to be disturbed by it made 
it all the worse for the others. Ward was 
distinctly nervous and let the fog play on his 
nerves. He saw steamers ahead that had 
no existence, and heard foghorns that were 
nothing but the sound of his own blood in 
his ears. 

" Yes, I do hear a foghorn. It's on the 
starboard quarter," he said, anxiously. 

" Not a bit of it, Ward ; it's on the port 
bow. It's some darned old wind-jammer. 
I'll give her a friendly hoot." 

He maclej-jt^j^^hrstle give a melancholy 




wail, which was not answered by the ship for 
which it was intended, but by a gigantic liner, 
which burst through the fog looking like high 
land and booming at the rate of at least 
twenty knots. She loomed over them in the 


obscurity, and Ward gave an involuntary 
howl which fetched the Swarfs crowd out on 
deck in time to see that there was no need 
to kick their boots off and swim for it They 
were also in time to answer the insulting 
remarks of the liner's two officers on the 
bridge as she scraped past them with about 
the length of a handspike to spare. 

" You miserable tramp ! " said the liner as 
she swept by. 

" Oh, you man-drowning dogs ! " replied 
the crowd of the Sivan. 

And everything else that was said never 
reached its mark, The liner was swallowed 

by L^OOgle 

up, and resumed her attempt to make a good 
passage in spite of what she logged as 
" hazy " weather. 

"What did I tell you about my luck? 11 
said Spink, coolly* and Ward very naturally 
had nothing to say till he 
got his breath. What he 
said then could only have 
been said to a skipper who 
had so unfortunate a dis- 
position towards violence 
that he had to ship officers 
who could lick him. 

" You are a wonder," 
said Ward, "and I wish 
you had been dead before 
I saw you. Ain't you 
thinking of others' lives if 
you ain't of your own ? " 

" What's the use of 
arguing with a thickhead 
like you, Ward?" asked 
Spink. " I trust in Provi- 
dence and my luck, and if 
you don't like it you can 
get out and walk," 

At this moment a bellow 
was heard for'ard, " Ice on 
the starboard bow," and 
Spink, who for all his talk 
had the eyes of a cat, 
motioned to the man at 
the wheel to starboard the 
helm a few spokes. The 
Swan ground past a small 
berg and had a narrower 
shave than with the liner. 

"If we'd been going a 
trifle slower, Ward," said 
the skipper, " I might have 
plugged that lump plumb 
in the middle, and you would have 
been dow + n on the main-deck seeing 
the boats put over the side/' 

"There's no arguing with you," 
growled the mate ; " you'd sicken a hog, and 
I wish it was Day's watch instead of mine. 
If he has the same temper when he wakes 
that he went below with, you'll have a dandy 
time with him." 

He relapsed into a silence which Spink 
found more trying than open insubordination, 
for Spink was a cheerful soul 

" Here, I can't stand this, Ward," 
14 What can't you stand ? M asked Ward, 

"Not being spoken to, of course," replied 
the skipper, " I order you to be more 

cheerful I don't ask von to be polite, for I 

un q i rial from r 




know you can't be ; but you can talk when 
you aren't wanted to, so you just talk now." 

" 1 won't unless you slow down," said 
Ward, " 1 don't see why I should talk and 
be cheerful with a sea-lunatic." 

"Well," said Spink, "I'll slow her down 
to half speed to please you, for goodness 
knows there's enough ice about without my 
havin ? a lump of it for a mate. Ring her 
down to half speed and be hanged to you," 

Ward rang her to half speed without any 
second order 

"And I sincerely hope I sha'n't regret 
bein' weak enough to give way," said Spink, 
"for Vm a deal too easy-go in' and reasonable." 

He lighted his pipe and smoked steadily. 
As both Ward and Day admitted, he might 
be hard to get along with t but he had nerves 
which would have done 
credit to a bull. 

"And now," said Spink, 
"as you're satisfied at 
gettin' your own way, I'll 
go below and have a 

It was very nearly 
eight bells in the second 
dog - watch before 
Captain Harry 
Sharpness Spink, of 
Glo'ster, showed on 
deck. As he 
meant to stay 
on deck all 
night, he had 
really been very 
moderate. The 
fog was a deal 
thicker than 
much of the 
served up in 
the Swan , 
though Spink 
rather prided 
himself on the 
way the men 
were fed in her. 

** Are you 
asked Spink. 

" I ain't by any means 
happy," said Ward; "and 
no seaman worthy of the 
name can be happy on the Banks in weather 
like this/ 1 

"That's a slur on me, I know," said 
Spink ; " but I look over it," 

14 What would you do if you didn't ? " 
asked Ward. 

nervous ? T? 


Spink did not reply to this challenge, and 
inside of a minute both he and Ward had 
something to think of besides quarrelling 
about nothing. The fog lifted for a moment 
and showed ice all about them. The air 
grew bitterly cold, and was soon close on the 
freezing point. Spink slowed her down again 
and almost literally felt his way through the 
obstacles. Once he touched a small berg, 
but when he did so he was going dead slow. 
Ward stood by and saw the "old man" 
handle the Swan with admiration. When 
they were once more through the thick of it 
he spoke. 

"I wish I could understand you, Spink," 
he said, with far more respect than he often 
showed, "You're the most reckless skipper 
I ever sailed with, and now you're more 

careful than I 
should be." 

"I don J t 
trust in my 
luck till I can't 
see/' said 
Spink, and he 
turned her 
over to Ward, 
saying, "Go 
your own pace, 
my son. It's 
most agreeable 
when you are 

And next 
minute t he 
cat as t rophe 
happened, for 
at half speed 
the old Swan 
bunted her 
nose into a low 
but very solid 
berg, and the 
result was very 
much the same 
as if she had 
tried conclu- 
sions head on 
with a dock 
wall. She 
crumpled up 
like a bandbox 
when it is 
inadvertently sat on, and it would have been 
obvious to the least instructed observer that 
her chance of going much farther was a very 
small one indeed. She trembled and was 
jarred to her vitals, her iron decks lifted up 
like a carpwnfflftfltfeijfad underneath it, 






one of the funnel stays parted with a loud 
twang, and the crowd forward came out on 
deck as if the furies were behind them. And 
the fog was still so thick that it was impos- 
sible to see them from the bridge. But they 
soon saw Bill Day, the second mate, for even 
his ability to sleep through most things could 
not stand being thrown out of his bunk. 

"What's up now?" roared the second 
mate. And the skipper showed at his very 

"Ward would have her at half speed," said 
Spink, coolly ; " and that gave the southerly 
drift time to bring that berg just where it 
could do its work." 

And poor Ward hadn't a word to say. 
Spink had plenty. He spoke to the crew 

" Keep quiet there, you ! " he snapped, 
without the least sign of a disturbed mind. 
And up came the chief engineer, McPherson, 
in pyjamas and a blue funk. 

" What's happened, captain ? Oh, what's 
gone wrang the noo ? " he cried. 

" She's hit more than a penn'orth of ice, 
Mr. McPherson," replied the skipper, " and 
if I were you I'd get my clothes on. Mr. 
Ward, see to the boats. Mr. Day, take the 
steward and a couple of hands and get some 
stores up on deck." 

He was so cool that he inspired unlimited 
confidence, although it was now obvious to 
them all that the Swan's very minutes were 
numbered. It did not require old Mac's 
report that the water was coming on board 
like a millstream to show them that. The 
engineers and firemen came on deck, and 
Spink addressed them in what he considered 
suitable and encouraging terms. 

"Now, then, you stokehold scum, less 
jaw there. You won't get drowned this trip." 

They were exceedingly glad to hear it, for 
a lot of them were of a different opinion, and 
said so. There was no time to waste, and, 
indeed, none was lost. The real trouble 
began when it was found that one boat 
wouldn't swim, after the manner and custom 
of boats in the mercantile marine, and when 
another was staved in by a swinging lump of 
ice the moment it took the water. This 
lump was a small "calf" of the larger berg 
which they had struck on, and the next 
moment the original obstacle swung along- 
side and ground heavily against the steamer. 

"There ain't enough boats," said the 
skipper. " Mr. Ward, d'ye think you could 
hook on to that berg ? We'll have to board 
it and make out as best we can." 

As the Swan was a vessel of close on 

fourteen hundred tons, her kedge anchor 
ought to have weighed something like four 
and a half hundredweight. As a matter of 
fact, it had once belonged to something in 
the shape of a tug, and it weighed barely 
two. Ward picked it up as if it was a toy 
and hove it on the berg, and followed it with 
a warp. 

" Bully for you," said the skipper, and as 
he spoke the Sivan gave forth a noise very 
much like a hiccough. "Down on the ice, 
the port watch ; and the others get the stores 
over the side. Steward, all the blankets you 
can get. Mr. Day, put over the side any- 
thing to make a raft of; we may want one 
if the berg melts." 

Spars and hen-coops and everything that 
would float went over the side, some on 
the ice and some into the water. A 
couple of hands in the only sound boat kept 
her clear of the berg and the Swan and 
shoved the floating dunnage to those in 
the new vessel, which had promptly been 
christened "The Sailors' Home." Their 
late home was about to disappear, and said 
so in terms that were quite unmistakable by 
the initiated. 

" Now, then," said Spink, " when the rest 
of you are over the side, I'm ready. Ward, 
take the chronometer as I lower it down. 
And be careful with this bag ; there's the 
ship's papers and my sextant in it. Now, 
boom her off," said Spink, " for the Swan's 

There was a tremendous crack on board. 

"The fore bulkhead," said Spink. And 
then the poor old Swan cocked her stern in 
the air. A furious gush of steam came up 
from the engine-room and all the stoke-hold 
ventilators until the sea came almost level 
with the after-hatch. 

" She's going down head foremost," said 
the crew. " Poor old Swan ! " 

And then there was a mighty shiveree on 
board. The whole of the cargo in No. i 
and No. 2 holds fetched away and evidently 
shot right out at the bows. All this mixture 
of cargo must have been followed by the 
engines slipping from their beds, for, instead 
of doing a dive head foremost, the Swan's 
stern, which had been high in air, went 
under with a big splash, and she lifted her 
ragged bows in the fog before she went down 
with a long-drawn, melancholy gurgle. 

" She warn't such a bad old packet after 
all," said the sad crew, and for at least a 
minute no one said another word. Then 
Ward spoke. 

" Where's vowihffkfrawn, Spink?" 





"What's become of your theory that half 
speed in a fog is any better than goin' at it 
at my rate ? " asked Spink. " You haven't a 
leg to stand on T and I don't propose to take 
advice from you again. You've disappointed 
me sadly. My luck is where it was except 
in the matter of my officers, and it's notorious 
that I have no luck with them. We're out of 
the Swan without a life lost, weVe got heaps 
of grub, plenty of blankets, and a fine, com- 
fortable iceberg under us. There's many 
this hour in the Western Ocean that might 
envy us, and don't you make any error about 
that I come from Glo'ster and my name is 
Captain Harry Sharpness Spink, and, drunk 
or sober, it's as good as havin' your life in- 
sured to sail with me. Oh, I'm all right, and 
I propose to plug the firsL man that growls, if 
he's as big as the side of a house." 

None of them was in trim Lo take up the 


challenge, and Spink lighted 
his pipe, 

* Three cheers for the cap- 
tain," said the crew, and they 
cheered him heartily, for 
which he thanked them 
almost regally, 

" So far as I can see in this 
fog, there's plenty of room 
for everyone," said Spink, as 
the night grew dark, That 
was where he was wrong, for 
they soon discovered, by fall- 
ing into the water on the fa* 
side, that they were on no 
great ice island, but had 
picked a very small berg in- 
deed, Spink con- 
soled them by telling 
them that they 
wouldn't be on it 
long, and they could 
hardly help believing 
it, he seemed so 
certain of it. 

"And after all," 
he said to Day and 
Ward, "the old 
Swan was insured 
for more than she 
was worth, and I 
shouldn't be sur- 
prised if the owners 
were pleased with 
the catastrophe/ 1 

He wrapped him- 
self in blankets 
and lay down. In 
five minutes he 
was breathing like a child. 

The night wore away while Mac wept, and 
Spink slept the sleep of the righteous, and 
Ward and Day smoked in silence. As for 
the crew, they lay huddled up together. The 
dawn broke very early, at about three, and it 
found most of the inhabitants of the berg 
still unconscious. In the night the fog had 
lifted, and the sea was almost as calm as a 
duck-pond. What wind there was now blew 
from the west, and was much warmer than it 
had been. Within a mile there were two or 
three other small bergs, but when Spink 
grunted and yawned and crawled out of his 
blankets there was nothing else in sight, 

"Humph !" said Spink, "this is a rummy 
go, and if I didn't come from Glo'ster I 
should he in a blue funk. I must keep up 
my spirits and show 'em what my luck's 
like. Tve been in worse fixes than this many 




a time, and after all, with a good seaworthy 
berg under foot and lashings of grub, I don't 
see why anyone should growl. If anyone 
does I'll knock his head off. Now, which of 
these jokers is the cook ? " 

He found the steward and booted him 
gently in the ribs. At least, he said it was 
gently, whatever the aggrieved steward thought 
of it. 

" Now, then, Cox," said the skipper, " turn 
out and find me the cook — he's one of this 
pile of snorin' hogs — and let's have some 

By the time the grub was ready Ward and 
Day were " on deck," and the sun was begin- 
ning to think of doing the same. The two 
mates looked round the horizon and saw 
nothing to comfort them. The only cheerful 
thing in sight was the skipper, and for very 
shame the more pessimistic Ward screwed 
up a smile. 

" Not so bad, is it ? " asked Spink. 

" It might be worse, I own," replied the 
mate. " What course are you steerin', 
Spink ? " 

"Straight for Glo'ster," replied Spink, 
cheerfully. " How did you chaps sleep ? " 

Ward said he hadn't slept at all, but Day 
averred that he had dreamt he had been 
locked in a refrigerator belonging to some 
cold meat steamer from Australia. And just 
then the steward said that breakfast was 
ready. It consisted of cold tinned beef, 
iced biscuit, and melted berg. There were 
signs of a mutifty among the crew at once. 

" Say, cook, where's the cawfy ? " they 
asked, and they were only reduced to a 
proper sense of the situation by a few strong 
remarks from Captain Spink. The riot sub- 
sided before it really began, and all the 
" slop-built, greedy sons of corby crows," as 
Spink called them, sat down meekly and ate 
what they were given. And then the sun 
came up and warmed them, and they soon 
began to feel well and happy. But now the 
real trouble of the situation began to develop. 
The heat of the summer sun, when it once 
got high enough to do some work, began to 
melt the berg. It was rather higher in the 
middle than it was on the edges, and it was 
most amazingly slippery. The water ran off 
it in streams, and, as it was barely big enough 
to start with, it looked as if they would 
shortly be crowded. 

" I never thought of this," said Spink. " I 
tell you, Ward, she'll turn turtle before we 
know where we are. We must put all the 
stores in the boat and have a man in her 
to keep her clear if the here capsizes." 

" Your luck ain't what you let on," said 
Ward, gloomily ; " the thing fair melts under 
us and we'll have to swim." 

" To thunder with your croaking ! " said 
Spink. Oh, do dry up ! " 

" I wish the berg would," said Ward, as he 
superintended the shipment of the stores. 
When it was done he put a Cockney deck- 
hand into her and made him shove off. 

" Lumme ! " said Lim'us ; " I'm likely to 
be the on'y dry 'un of the 'ole shoot." 

The word "shoot" soon threatened to 
become highly appropriate, for about noon 
the berg was distinctly cranky. However 
fast it melted above, it was obviously melting 
much faster down below, for they had appar- 
ently struck a streak of comparatively warm 
water, and when ice does go it goes fast. 
The " crowd " got very uneasy, and Spink got 
very cross as he arranged them so as to trim 
his craft. 

" Sit still, you bounders," said Spink ; "do 
you want to capsize us ? " 

" But we're so cold be'ind, sittin' still, sir," 
said one, bolder than the rest. 

" I'll warm you if I have to come over 
and speak to you," said Spink. 

His threats were interrupted by the sound 
of a large crack, and presently there were 
obvious signs that the berg was about to 
capsize. Lim'us got quite excited as they 
discussed the situation and came in close, till 
Ward ordered him to get farther away. As 
he rowed off reluctantly he encouraged them 
by yelling, " She's goin' over. May the Lord 
look sideways at me if she ain't." 

" Oh, oh ! " said poor old Mac ; " I'm a 
puir meeserable sinner wi' a sore head and 
no medicine, and I'll be wet in a crack and 
I'll die wi'out a wee drappie. Oh, oh, oh ! " 

And the berg stopped cracking, but took 
on an ugly cant. A big lump of ice broke 
off it down below and came up to the surface 
with a leap. 

" Steady, you animals," said Spink, politely, 
to his unhappy crew, and Ward asked him 
where his luck was. Whatever answer he 
was to get he never knew, for with a curious 
heave the berg started on a roll, and with a 
suddenness which took them all with surprise 
she bucked them into the Atlantic, together 
with what materials they had for a raft. It 
was a lucky thing for at least half of them 
that there had been time to save such 
dunnage from the S7van> for half the crowd, 
including McPherson and Day, could not 
swim a stroke. Ward grabbed Day and 
helped him to a spar, and Spink did the 
same for old M?qjnaAtid in the meantime 





Lim'us made everyone furious by squealing 
with laughter in the boat, 

" Oh, oh ! " squeaked old Mac, when the 
skipper laid hold of him, "Oh, oh! I'm 
drooned, I'm drooned, and I've the rheuma- 
tism bad in a J my joints." 

Spink dragged him to a floating oar along- 
side the capsized berg, Now it was not so 
high out of water, and there was far more 
space on it. For some time it would be 
comparatively stable, and, when Spink scram- 
bled on it the first of anyone, he congratu- 
lated himself on his never-failing luck. He 
helped the rest on board, and the whole 
space was soon occupied by an unclad crowd, 
wringing the Atlantic out of their clothes 
and trying to get warm in the sun. It was 
quite astonishing how cheerful everyone was, 
with the single exception of that confirmed 
pessimist, the chief engineer. At their end 
of the berg the men took to skylarking. 

In the warmth of the sun they forgot the 
discomforts of the past night and did not 
think of the night to come, But Ward did, 
and he was still very gloomy on the situation. 

" Just as she spilt us," said he, " I 
was askin 1 you your opinion of your luck. 
What do you think of it now ? Perhaps 
you'll use that regal authority of a skipper to 
get us out of the hole you've got us in." 

If ever any skipper had the right to be 
justly indignant, Spink thought he was that 

"The hole f got you in ! I like that : oh, 
I do like that. Who was it^ I ask, that 
pestered me to go half speed, and almost 
wept till I said, 'Have your own way, you 
cross-eyed beauty 3 ? " 

"You never addressed them words to me," 
said Ward, truculently, "or I'd have given 
you what for, and well you know it." 

Spink shook his head. 

" I ain't sayin' that I used them very 
words," he urged ; " all I mean is that that 
was what I meant when I let you have your 
own silly way, which has landed me and Day, 
to say not h in' of the rest, on a penn'orth of 
ice in mid -Atlantic, more or less," 

He fell into contemplation, and did not 
speak till Ward clapped him on the back 
and said he was a very good sort after all. 

They went to dinner, and the sun did 
something of the same sort. At any rate, it 
went out of sight and a thick fog came down 
on the castaways. 

" We 'opes no bloom in' packet '11 come and 
run us pore blighters down," said the men, 
as they fell to work on the grub, M for, 
accordin 1 to the. old man, who is the cheer- 
fullest blolfirifflnaMHffles we ever struck, 


r8 4 


-we're right in the track of the J ole shoot of 
'em, arid may be picked up or scooted into 
the sea again any minute*" 

As a matter of fact, they were then on the 
southern tail of the Bank, for when the Swan 
bunted her nose into the berg she was pretty 
well at the locality on the Grand Bank where 
the usual " lane " to New York is left for the 
lane to Halifax. The very watch before the 
collision they had verified their position by 
flying the " blue pigeon, " as seamen call the 
deep-sea lead, and ever since then they had 
been floating in the Labrador current to the 
south and east. To locate them exactly, 
they were just about where the Great Circle 
Track of steamers from the English Channel 
to the Gulf of Mexico crosses the tail of the 
Bank. There was every chance of some- 
thing coming along there, even though it was 
getting late enough in the season for the 
big liners to take the route to the southard 
for fear of the very ice which had brought 
them to grief. 

"Oh, yes," said the crowd, 
when they were full up with 
food, "we're all right." 

Nevertheless, the fog 
did not cheer them up 
to any great extent, and 
when it showed signs 
of lasting all day they 
grew less happy, 

"A hundred vessels 
might pass us in this," 
said Ward, who for all 
his bigness had much 
less endurance than the 
skipper, and was now 
hardly more cheerful 
than old Mac, " I wish 
I was out of it." 

" Oh, wish again," 
retorted Spink, con- 
temptuously, '* Do 
you know, Ward, that 
you make me tired? 
What do you get by 
howlirv and growlin' ? 
I know this is gum' to 
come out all right, and 
I won't be discouraged 
by any silly jaw of a 
man that ought to 
know better. Shut 

And to Day's sur- 
prise Ward shut up. 
At that very moment 
there came a bellow 

from Billings, who had relieved Lim'us in 
the bout. 

" Berg ahoy ! " roared Billings. 

* Halloa ! " replied the skipper. " What's 
the matter now ? " 

" I 'ears a steamer, so help me Dick," 
bellowed Billings, joyfully. " I 'ears 'er plain. 
Don't none of you blokes 'ear 'er, too ? " 

There was such a buzz among the crowd 
that it would have been hard to hear a fog 
horn, and it was not until Spink had hit three, 
kicked half-a dozen, and used at least ten 
pounds' worth of language according to 19 
Geo. II., cap. 21, that anything like silence 
was restored. Then it was obvious that 
Billings had made no mistake. The sea was 
fairly calm, the breeze from the west was light, 
and any sound carried long and far. 

11 She's coming from the westward," said 
Spink, as he consulted a toy compass on his 

4 *No," said Day, "she's bound west, or 
I'm a Dutchman," 


NOW, MEN, MfOUT j£Ufil$fclHfal&0 ITl 




" Then you come from Amsterdam for a 
certainty," said the "old man," crossly. 
" Now, men, shout all together when I say 
1 three/ One, two, three" 

And just as the men yelled there was a 
hoot-too-oot from the steamship, which for a 
moment made them believe she had heard 
them. But Spink knew better, and when 
there was another hoot he grabbed Day by 
the arm. 

" By Jemima," said Spink, " we're both 
right. Day, there are two of 'em. That 
second squeal never came out of the same 
whistle that the first one did." 

Now, the nature of fog is something that 
no fellow can understand. Seamen must not 
think they are a long way off if they hear a 
sound faintly, or even if they do not hear it 
at all. That's bad enough, but there is worse 
behind. They are not to reckon they are 
near because they hear it plainly, or that it 
isn't to be heard farther away at some other 
spot if they cease to hear it at all. And, 
furthermore, any notion that a sound comes 
from any particular direction is the biggest 
trap of the lot. Now the uninitiated can 
understand that they do not understand, and 
that seamen are in the same awkward fix 
whenever a fog comes down to cheer 
them on their weary way. The two 
steamers coming out of nothingness and 
butting into it were commanded by men who 
trusted to the evidence of their senses as if 
they were police magistrates trusting to 
policemen. They hooted and bellowed in 
the most wonderful manner, and said with 
one short blast that they were directing their 
course to starboard, and, as neither knew 
where the other was or where he was himself, 
they directed their courses with the most 
marvellous precision to the exact spot on the 
tail of the Grand Bank in the Western Ocean 
where they could collide. And they did so 
with a most horrid, grinding crash, and with 
one long, last, fearful, and hopeless wail of 
their steam whistles. 

"Good heavens ! " said the iceberg's crew; 
"this time they've been and gone and 
done it." 

Ward asked Spink, sickly, if he had any 
remarks to make about his luck. Spink 
hadn't, but he had some remarks to make 
about Ward which in other circumstances 
would have led to war. While he was reliev- 
ing his overcharged mind there was a horrid 
uproar coming out of the fog, for both the 
steamships were blowing off steam and every- 
one on board of them appeared to be run- 
ning the entire show at the top of his voice. 

VoL xxuc-24. 

And just as it was all at its extreme point of 
interest the fog played one of its commonest 
tricks, and with an anacoustic wall shut 
off the whole dreadful play in one single 

The castaways turned to each other in 
alarm, and Billings, who had nearly lost him- 
self in the fog, rowed in close. 

"I think they've both foundered," said 
Billings, and it certainly looked as if he 
were right, in spite of what Spink said to him. 

And everyone sat down and smoked and 
said how grieved they were for the poor, 
unfortunate beggars who had been drowned 
through having no nice, comfortable iceberg 
to take refuge on. Then they had their 
supper and went to sleep, leaving all their 
cares in the faithful hands of poor Spink. 

" Ah ! " he sighed, " my unfortunate disposi- 
tion cuts me off from all real sympathy. I've 
no one to confide in at sea or ashore." 

He couldn't go to sleep, and took to walk- 
ing as far as the narrow limits at his disposal 
would allow him. When he found that he 
was in for a restless night he told the man on 
the look-out that he could turn in. Jackson, 
who happened to be the look-out, lingered a 
little before he did as he was told. 

" Do you think, sir," he asked, with some 
trepidation at his daring to speak to the 
skipper — "do you think, sir, that we shall 
ever get out o' this ? " 

" Of course we shall," said Spink. " What 
do you suppose I'm here for ? Go to Sleep, 
Jackson, and mind your own business. 
You'll be all right." 

And Jackson, who was . a simple-minded 
seaman of the real old sort, fell asleep, feel- 
ing that the " old man " was to be relied on 
even on an iceberg in the Western Ocean 
and in a fog as thick as No. 1 canvas. 

For by now the fog was thick, and no 
mistake. As Spink walked the ice and 
squelched with his sea-boots in the melted 
puddles, he could hardly see his hand before 
his face, and more than once he nearly 
walked overboard. At midnight it was even 
thicker, and he was obliged to give up walk- 
ing and come to an anchor on a tin of corned 
beef : and though he was on watch it has to 
be owned that he dozed for a few minutes, just 
as Lim'us did, whose turn it was in the boat, 
which lay off the berg. When Spink woke, 
he found it just about as dark as their pros- 
pects. When his eyes cleared he sighed 
and looked about him, with a mind which 
took some of its tone from the fog and from 
the dull, dead hour of two o'clock in the 


1 86 


** I wonder if my luck is out?" he sighed, 
and he stared into the solidest darkness. 
It was certainly monstrously dark in one 
direction, He rubbed his eyes and grunted. 
Then he lighted a match and looked at his 
little compass. His mind went back to the 
lady in Bristol who had given it to him, 

" She was a very pretty piece/' said Spink, 
thoughtfully, " But Fni blowed if I can see 
why it should be darkest towards the east" 

He rose up and peered into the fog. 
Again he rubbed his eyes, and then stood 

" Perhaps another berg," he said ; 
"but * 

He stood as still as if his figure had been 
turned into stone, and presently he looked 
to the sleeping crowd, who were all as solid 
with sleep as if they were dead, and nodded 
in the strangest way- 

"Oh, oh ! If it is if it only isn't a horrid 



delusion ! " he murmured. He turned to the 
darkness again and shook his fist at it and 
the fog. At that very moment the fog rolled 
up like a curtain. Right in front of Spink, 
and not farther than a man could chuck a 
biscuit* there lay the strange and almost 
monstrous apparition of a silent^ lightless, 
and derelict steamer ! 

"What did I say to Ward about luck?" 
asked Spink of the whole Atlantic Ocean. 
"Now I've got the bulge on him, and no fatal 
error about it" 

He rubbed his hands together and smiled 
very happily, 

" There'll be fine pickings in this, and no 
mistake, 1 ' he murmured. "Oh, thisll be 
something like salvage. And FU lay dollars 
to cents that I can tell how it ever happened. 
Ah, here comes the fog again ! " 

The fog dropped down in a thin veil till 
the dim and ghostly derelict looked still less 
substantial than it had done* 
Then it heaved and rolled 
in, and the deserted packet 
could be seen no more, 
Spink sighed, but was happy. 
"I'll give Ward the big- 
gest surprise he ever had in 
his life," he said, as he turned 
to the boat in which young 
Lim'us was doing a very solid 
caulk. Spink kicked some ice 
into small lumps, and at the 
third attempt he hit the 
sleeper on the side of his 
head, Lim'us woke with a 
start and heard the captain's 
voice just in time to prevent 
him threatening to eviscerate 
the swab who was slinging 
things at him. 

" Hold your jaw/ J said 

Spink, in a savage whisper, 

" and pull in here quiet, or 

I'll murder you." 

Lim'us obeyed instantly, though he had 

doubts as to whether it was wise to come 

within arms length of the skipper after having 

been caught asleep. 

" I war n't asleep, sir ; strimy blind if I 
was," he began, as he came up to the berg. 

" Dry up and say nothing said Spink ; "if 
you wake anyone, I'll see you don't sleep 
again for a week. Hand up some of that 
truck and get the stern sheets clear. 1 want 
to get in myself," 

There was more than a chance of not 
finding the derelict and of losing the iceberg, 
and Spink knew it. Just as he was about to 




chance it he remembered that he had a couple 
of balls of strong twine in the bag into which 
he had dumped all his belongings, including 
the precious ship's papers, when he left the 
Swan. As he recalled this lucky fact, a 
heavenly smile overspread his handsome 

"It's a splendid notion," said Spink. 
" I feel as proud of it as a dog with two 
tails ! " 

He stepped to his bag as lightly as a 
Po'ar bear after a sleeping seal, and when he 
found the twine he tied the end of it to 
Ward's leg. 

" Ward at one end and luck at the other," 
said Spink, with a grin. " Oh, won't he be 
surprised ! " 

And the skipper went back to the boat, 
paying out the twine as he went He was 
chuckling in the merriest way, and poor 
Lim'us, who was cold and very sick of the 
whole affair, thought that the strain had been 
too much for him. 

" 'E's balmy on the crumpet, that's what's 
the matter wiv 'im," said Lim'us, as he obeyed 
orders reluctantly and pulled into the solid 
fog with a mad and grinning skipper, who 
would probably scupper him as soon as they 
were out of earshot of the crew. 

" I wish I was in Lim'us," said he. " I'd 
give all my wyges to see Commercial Rowd 

And still Spink chuckled and paid out the 
twine, until suddenly the boat ran into a still 
deeper darkness. 

"Easy, boy," said the skipper, with a 
strange note of exultation in his voice. 
" Easy ; we're there now." 

As he spoke the boat ground up against 
the side of the derelict, and Lim'us turned 
about on the thwart and touched the iron 
plates with his hand. 

" If you let a yell out of you," said the 
captain, " I'll cut your throat from ear to 

But, indeed, Lim'us was incapable of yell- 
ing All he could do was to gasp, and he 
did that as effectively as if he was a bonito 
with the grains in him. And the boat drifted 
towards the vessel's bows while Spink looked 
for the easiest way on board. 

" They ran like rats," said Spink. " Oh, 
I know the way they ran. They got on 
board the other beat, and think this one is 
now surprisin' the cod-fish. ' ; 

They reached the bows at last and came 
round on the port side, and there Spink 
found what he looked for. The vessel had 
been cut down to within six inches of the 

water's edge about forty feet aft from the 

"Just as I laid it out in my mind," said 
Spink. "Catch hold, you, while I get on 

He dropped about ten fathoms of the twine 
into the water, and with the rest of the ball 
in his pocket he scrambled up the horrid 
gash in the derelict's side and went on deck. 
He walked for'ard and got the twine" clear 
out on the starboard side, pointing for the 
unconscious mate. Then he made it fast 
and took a look at his new command. In 
spite of the fog it was not difficult to see that 
she was a fine new boat of about two 
thousand tons, built and fitted, as was pretty 
obvious from her derricks, for a fast freight 
boat It was equally obvious that the 
whole crew had evacuated her in a panic, 
for Spink found the skipper's berth with 
the bed-clothes on the floor along with a 
sad and derelict pair of trousers. The " old 
man " had evidently been in his bunk instead 
of being on the bridge, and so far as Spink 
could see he had stayed to grab nothing but 
the ship's papers, without which there can be 
no maritime salvation. 

" This will be a very valuable salvage job," 
said Spink, as he licked his lips after taking 
a pull at a bottle of whisky which he found 
only too handy to the' lips of the former 
skipper. " There's money in this — oh, lots of 
it. And now I'll show Ward where my luck 
comes in, and I'll have old Mac and Calder 
patch up that rent in her before it comes on 
to blow again." 

He put the bottle in his pocket and went 
for'ard, feeling a deal more proud than if he 
owned a fleet. For the deserted steamer, 
the name of which was the Winchclsea y of 
Liverpool, was a direct proof that his luck 
was still what it had been. He found the 
end of the twine and hauled in the slack 
very cautiously. 

" I wish I could see his face," said Spink, 
as he gave the twine a yank which made 
Ward sit up suddenly and wonder what had 
happened to him. 

"Oh, oh, oh ! " said Ward. The ice was 
nearer than it had been, and what he said 
was quite audible on board the Winchelsca. 

" Eh, what ? " said Ward, and then Spink 
gave the line another yank which almost 
started Ward on an ice-run for the water. 
But this time he found out what was the 
matter and laid hold of the twine. 

"Who's pulling my leg?" he roared, in 
such stentorian tones that the whole crowd 

woke lWl iMtanrl - y -0F MICHIGAN 



" ' who's pulling jhv le(;?' he roared." 

" I am," said Spink, " and I'll thank you 
to pay attention and not lie there snoring 
while I do all the work," 

* ( Where are you ? " asked Ward ; " I can't 
see you." 

"Where d'ye think* I am?" asked Spink. 
"While you were asleep I went out and 
looked for a new job and found it." 

As he spoke there were sudden signs of 
dawn and once more the curtain of the mist 
rolled away, and the late crew of the Swan 
saw a big steamer within fifty feet of them, 
with the late skipper of the Swan leaning 
over her side smoking his morning pipe, 

" Jerusalem ! " said the crew, and they 
shook their heads with amazement, while 
Ward scratched his. Day whistled, old Mac 
burst into joyful tears, and Billings used 
some awful language to show his gratitude. 
And Spink said : — - 

" When you have washed and shaved and 
put on clean collars, 1 should be much 

by Google 

obliged by your coming on 
board and doing enough 
work to melt the hoar-frost 
that's on you, Limehouse, 
scull over to the berg, and 
look slippy about it." 

In ten minutes they all 
found themselves on board, 
and Mac and Calder set 
to work before breakfast to 
patch her up. The engines 
and furnaces were still 
warm, and it took little time 
to get up steam. But Ward 
took some to get up his. 
As he said, it was a fair 
knock out j and it seemed 
like some black magic on 
the part of the skipper, 
who walked the bridge after 
breakfast as if he owned 
the whole North Atlantic, 

"She w T as bound for 
England, and we'll go 
home," said Spink, "and as soon as maybe 
we'll find out what's in her. This is my first 
salvage, and it's goin' to be a good one/ 1 
" You're a wonder ! " said Ward. 
" Didn't I always say so ? " replied Spink, 
modestly ; " and now I hope that you and 
Day will behave yourselves, and not trade on 
any weaknesses that I may have, for I won't 
put up with it if you do." 

" How do you propose to stop it ? M asked 
Day. "You can't plug me or Ward any 
better now than you could before. Why 
don't you behave ? Then there would be 
no trouble. I'm fair sick of hearin* about 
your unfortunate disposition." 
" So am I," said Ward. 
Spink shook his head with disgust, 
"And this kind of talk after what I've 
done ! " he said, " I wish you would read 
old Kelly's little book on 'The Mate and 
His Duties/ Ward. It would teach you how 
to behave." 

" I had it in the Swan" said Ward, " but, 
though it had a lot in it about land-saints 
and sea devils, there was nothin' in it that 
fitted a man like you*" 

" Perhaps not/' said Spink, thoughtfully- 
" I own I'm rare ; I'm very rare." 

The fog cleared right off and the sun ' 
shone and the calm sea sparkled. In such 
circumstances everyone ought to have been 
happy, but Spink said he wasn't. 

" I wish 1 wasn't so rare/' said Spink. 

Original from 

Has the Public School Boy Deteriorated? 


T used to be said that the boy- 
hood of England constituted 
the greatest asset of England's 
future. To - day there are 
many among us who are fond 
of proclaiming the deteriora- 
tion of the English boy, and especially of 
the public school boy. He is, they say, no 
longer what he was m the " good old days %i 
— the days of dear old Tom Brown. He 
has lost in head 
and heart and 
hand. Those 
old qualities of 
fair - play and 
pluck, of appli- 
cation and reso- 
lution — in short, 
of character — 
have dwindled ; 
so that the future 
race of Engl is h- 
men, bred at the 
great public 
schools, will be 
hy no means so 
sterling, strenu- 
ous, and straight- 
forward as the 
race which has 
won and ruled 
an Empire. 

But is the 
charge true? 
Knowing the 
widespread in- 
terest which 
such a discus- 
sion must have 
amongst parents 
and relatives, the 
Editor of The 
Strand decided to secure^ if possible, an 
expression of opinion from those persons 
best qualified to express it — the head masters 
of our great public schools. We are glad to 
announce to our readers that the result of 
the inquiry thus made is most satisfactory, 
and can hardly fail to be perused with deep 

" It is not easy," writes Dn Warre, head 
master of Eton, " to answer your question 
briefly currente calamo. My impression is 


From a Photo, bit /KBi «£ founder*, ifthm. 

that the public school boy of to-day is less 
rough in manner and language than his pre- 
decessors of fifty years ago. I no not see 
that he is less hardy, or, in matters physical, 
less efficient than they. On the whole I can 
bear witness to improvement, 

" Boys, as a rule, do more work and learn 
more now than they used to do. The con- 
ditions under which they are taught have 
been altered very much for the better. No 

one in his senses 
would propose 
to revert to the 
use of fifty years 
ago with a view 
co the ameliora- 
tion of the pre- 
sent use. 

"It may he 
that formerly, 
when the general 
level was lower, 
the instances of 
good scholar- 
ship and high 
literary ability 
seemed to tower 
above the rest 
more than they 
do at present ; 
and this, per- 
haps, may give 
the impression 
that the best of 
the present day 
are not so good 
as the best of 
the post. This 
I am inclined to 
doubt, I am 
afraid that it is 
true, as regards 
scholarship and literary culture generally, 
that education is somewhat hampered by 
the facilities offered to boys in the multitu- 
dinous editions of school-books, so anno 
tated that they avoid for them the effort of 
thinking in any difficulty, and are in reality 
even worse than 'cribs/ Then, again, the 
multiplication of examinations* and the way 
in which boys are driven to read for exami- 
nations as thr sole end in view, cannot he 
regarded as a good thing* The present age 

■^MBfrf*^^! 8 ^ ' propter 



examinationem examinandi perdere causas, 1 
This, and the growing habit of specializing 
early, will, I fear, be found out as time goes 
on to have done mischief, 

" But perhaps this is outside the scope of 
your question, in answer to which, speaking 
generally, I would say that neither the 
Homeric boast : — 

nor the Horatian pessimism : — 

iEtas paremum pejor avis tulfr 
Nos nequiorcs 

is true of the present school boy, but that 
we may with some reason claim to have 
made progress, and, at any rate, not to be 
inferior in 
culture or 
character to 
those who pre- 
ceded us,'* 

Thus Eton's 
head master 
may be said 
to hold the ba- 
lance evenly : 
if the boy of 
to - day is no 
better he is at 
least no worse. 

But the 
head master 
of Harrow 
School is more 
certainly in 
favour of the 
boy of to-day. 

" The ques- 
tion which you 
ask," writes 
Dr. Joseph 
Wood, "is 
one of great 
interest and 
My own ex- 
perience un- 
leads me to 
believe that, 
in all essen- 
tials of moral 
character, the schoolboys of to-day are 
better, not worse, than the boys of fifty 
years ago. They are not less manly, and 
they are certainly less rough and less cruel. 
Their code of honour is higher, and they 
deserve and receive a confidence which is 
rarely disappointed. There are fewer loafers. 

Frava n PArf*. ftp] 


Petty tyrants are crushed by public opinion. 
They are very keen in all they do, and their 
patriotism, if a little unreasoning, is very real 
and very charming. I do not believe one 
word that is said of the effeminacy of the 
boys of to-day, if by 'effeminacy' is meant 
incapacity to bear pain or to take life in the 
rough. Like all the rest of the world, boys 
have more luxury now than fifty years ago. 
But this does not seem to disagree with them 
or make them soft. Within the last year I 
have seen a boy stand to have a dislocated 
shoulder reduced, and never move a muscle 
or utter a sound ; and every day I see boys 
playing football regardless of weather, in rain 

and hail, and 
ankle-deep in 
I/jndon clay. 
In courage 
and kindliness 
and frankness 
of character, 
English public 
school boys 
seem to me to 
be as good as 
M Intellec- 
tually I am 
not quite so 
sure* So much 
is done for 
them by teach- 
ing, by anno- 
tated books, 
by large libra- 
ries in house 
or school, that 
I fear there is 
some little loss 
of free de- 
ve lopment. 
They know 
more, but use 
their minds 
less. And they 
certainly learn 
too many 
things at once. 
They are 
tempted also 
to neglect the 
reading of standard English literature, not 
only by the pressure of work and games, but 
(pace tna dixertm) by the delightful and attrac- 
tive Strand Magazine and its imitators." 

[Ellwtt it Frtt, 

" After my 
of Shre 

as headmaster 
.th*. Rev. B.W. 



Moss, " I suppose that few schoolmasters 
are better able than I am to compare the 
public school boy of from thirty to forty years 
ago with the public school boy of to-day. 
My judgment, with perhaps one exception, is 
wholly favourable to the public school boy 
as he is. He is as manly, as public-spirited, 
as devoted a lover of justice and fair-play, 
as the public 
school boy of 
i860 - 1870. 
He is as hon- 
ourable and 
straight for- 
ward as those 
who have gone 
before him. In 
both instances 
throughout I 
refer to the 
mass, not the 
With not an 
atom of ser- 
vility or pre- 
the average 
public school 
boy is now, I 
think, more 
of the import- 
ance of good 
order than 
was his prede- 
cessor of forty 
or fifty years 
ago. The only 
exception I 
am inclined to 
make is that 
admiration for 
athletic dis- 
tinction, even on the part of non- athletic 
boys, seems to me of late years, in more 
instances than in the past, to have enfeebled 
interest in serious pursuits. Still, speaking 
generally, so far as my own experience goes, 
I believe that those special characteristics 
which have so long made the nation feel 
proud of our public school boys have under- 
gone no deterioration/' 

" It has been a rule of my life," says the 
venerable head master of St PauPs School, 
Dr. Fred. W. Walker, tc not to write any- 
thing for publication except on philological 

" I «jii an old man, but in the course of 

my long life I have observed nothing that 
would lead me to believe in the degeneracy, 
mental, moral, or physical, of my countrymen, 
old or young," 

"H/ifls rot iraripwv p&y ipitlvoyes t$x&M*&' *?*<**■ 

Here is the opinion of the Rev. A. W. 
Upcott, head master of Christ's Hospital : — 

"I think, 

Prom a Photo, by] the HV.v, k. w. uo&s— SHkttWsulJKY, 

as far as my 
expe rience 
goes, that the 
public school 
boy of to-day 
is better than 
the schoolboy 
of thirty years 
ago. My ex- 
perience does 
not go back 
farther than 
this. I think 
that the 
schoolboy of 
to-day is mat*! ' J 
humane, more 
tractable, and 
more open to 
religious influ- 
ences than 
those whom I 
knew thirty 
years ago. I 
think that he 
has, as a 
whole, a 
higher stan- 
dard of truth 
and honesty ; 
lies and dis- 
honesty seem 
far less preva- 
lent among 
schoolboys than 'they used to be* Old- 
fashioned ' bullying ' is practically non- 

"The schoolboy of to-day no longer 
regards his master, as was often the case in 
former times, as his natural enemy, and no 
doubt much of the improvement in school- 
boy morality is due to the healthier and 
happier relations between masters and boys. 

" Sheer idleness is far rarer than it used 10 
be. Diligence seems to be the rule, not the 
exception. Bad language, betting, and drink- 
ing are, in my opinion and experience^ 
almost non-existent among public school 
boys, and the relations between masters and 
boys are now 30 dose &ad constant th*t H 




fVtrtrt a Photo, by I i aim no 

they existed to any large extent they could 
not fail to be noticed* 

"Is the schoolboy of to-day purer and 
more moral in his inner life than his pre- 
decessors ? That is a question which no 
thoughtful schoolmaster will dare to answer 
with absolute certainty, but I honestly believe 
that the general tone of morality is higher 
than it was. 

11 The danger to the schoolboy of to-day 
seems to rne to lie in the direction of a 
certain loss of strength of character and 
independent manliness, which the easier 
conditions of life at school make possible, 
In the old ' struggle for existence/ where 
evil was often rampant, the good boys {I 
use the word in no cant sense) were very 
good. But the price paid for their good- 
ness was heavy indeed," 

And now read what the able head master of 
one of the greatest and most celebrated 
public schools — Rugby — has to say on the 

"It is difficult for me to compare," writes 
the Rev. H* A, James, " from my own expe- 
rience, the public school boy of to-day with 
the type of fifty years ago, seeing that I was 
only ten years old at that date, and was never 

a public school boy* But, if one may 
judge by books and by hearsay evidence, 
there has been marked progress — a pro- 
gress, too, as I can personally testify, 
maintained steadily during the twenty- 
nine or thirty years over which my own 
life as a public school master extends. 

"To begin with the more obvious 
changes* Readers of 'Tom Brown' 
cannot but be struck with the fact that 
two of the worst features of the Rugby 
of Arnold's time (he died, it will be 
remembered, in 1842, and Hughes had 
left only a few months before) were 
bullying and drinking. These are 
troubles from which a modern head 
master has but very rarely anything to 
fear. They have both been killed by 
the development of athletics and by the 
humani/Jng influences which Arnold did 
so much to foster* Just as in the home 
parents are more the friends of their 
boys than their rulers, so in the school 
the attitude of mere obedience has been 
largely replaced by one of cheerful 
loyalty, arising in many cases out of 
personal regard and friendship. This 
is naturally most marked in the older 
boys. What the Rughy of to-day owes 
to its Sixth Form is beyond all words 
to express ; their work is no doing of routine 
duties by officials, but the leavening of the 
whole school by leaders who are intelligent 




enough to appreciate the value of a sound 
and healthy tone, and right-minded enough 
to set a high example to the rest, 

"Much has been gained for public schools 
by the rise of the preparatory school system. 
It is not only that little boys of eight are no 
longer plunged into a school life for which 
they were quite unfitted by their tender years, 
but that the masters of the best of these 
schools send us their boys, not simply well 
grounded in the elements of their work, but 
trained in right principles and warned against 
possible dangers, 

"You ask about * application/ The com- 
parison is a difficult 
one to make, but my 
strong belief is that 
industry grows. The 
high water mark may 
not — and perhaps 
could not — have 
risen, but the low- 
water mark is dis- 
tinctly higher. The 
average master 
teaches more intelli- 
gently and makes 
work more i n teres t- 
ingj and the response 
comes naturally, 

"The dangers 
ahead are the greater 
luxury of the home 
life, which reacts 
upon the simpler life 
of school, and the 
excessive devotion to 
athle tics. The pop u ■ 
lar idea of the time 
given to games at 
school is often an 
absurdly exaggerated 
one ; it is not here 
that the peril lies, 

but in misplaced ambitions and hero worship, 
Athletics have done much, as 1 have said, to 
regenerate school life ; but they need t;areful 
watching if their influence for good is not to 
be counterbalanced by the harmful conse- 
quences of excess. 

" One point more : school missions, by not 
only giving boys a clearer knowledge of, but 
also by bringing them into actual personal 
touch with, social problems and the life of 
the poor in our great cities, have given a new 
stimulus to human sympathies and a new 
field for Christian activities. The religious 
life of schools, deepened as it has been by 
more careful preparation for confirmation, 

Vol. xxi*,— 26. 

and various other ways, has here a practical 
side opened up to it. Those who have seen 
the work of these missions, or have even been 
present at a mission camp at the seaside, 
will know what I mean.' 1 

The Hon, Canon Lyttelton, head master 
of Haileybury, thus writes : — 

" The question as to the comparative 
character, moral and intellectual, of school- 
boys, compared with what it was fifty years 
ago, I can only answer roughly, as my know- 
ledge of hoys at that time was insignificant, 
though I ("in speak with far more pnsitive- 

ness of thirty years 


From o Photo, fry Elliott 4t Fiy. 

ago, but even then 
only of a small 
number of boys. 

"BuL if I am to 
hazard an opinion, it 
would be that there 
are more boys who 
come through school 
life at the present day 
without collapse than 
there used to be; 
also that they have 
dec i dedly i m proved 
in manners and de- 
corum. They are far 
more amenable to 
discipline and on a 
far better relation 
with their masters 
and with grown-up 
people generally. But 
whether there is 
quite the same grit 
of character and 
strength of will by 
the age of twenty or 
twenty - five is open 
to doubt. There 
may be, but there is 
room for some slight uncertainty. Intel- 
lectually more is known by the average, and 
quite the elite are probably as good as ever 
they were ; but there is a vast amount of 
shoddy and useless learning of second-hand 
facts and frittering away of brain power in 
multiplicity of examinations and of subjects. 
But the influence which does the most harm 
is that of cheap daily papers and magazines. 
It is becoming increasingly difficult for a boy 
to gain strength of brain through such experi- 
ence as now falls to the lot of all," 

The head master of Westminster School, 

the WeSm W'HcHi&Ar* t0 your 



From a 

inquiry, I should say 
that boys are not really 
different from what 
they used to be, but, 
being imitative crea- 
tures, they reflect very 
faithfully the changes 
in the habits of their 
elders. For instance, 
they no longer fight ; 
they think it manly to 
smoke, but not to 
drink — to swear now 
and again, but not to 
use filthy language ; 
they come more often 
voluntarily to Holy 
Communion, and are 
neither ashamed of 
piety nor persecuted 
for it Thus their manners are far gentler than 
in Tom Brown's day, but they remain on the 
whole the same careless, humorous, observant 
persons as of yore." 

Here is the opinion of the head master 
of Tonhridge School, the Rev, Charles 
Tancock : — 

"Generally I am unwilling to write at short 
notice on questions of the kind on which you 
ask me now, but on this particular point I have 
a strong opinion, 
which I am glad to 
express publicly, 
formed after much 
thought, much 
reading of old 
books on school 
life and conversa- 
tion with men of 
an older genera- 
tion* and much 
personal observa- 
tion, and I have 
no hesitation at 
all in saying that 
public school boys 
of to-day, taken in 
mass, are far more 
sensible, obedient, 
and manly than 
schoolboys of, say, 
fifty years ago, 

" The old rough- 
ness and hardness 
and prize-fighting 
spirit is gone and 
the love of fair- 


play quite as strong 
as it was, and, although 
a modern boy's mind 
is excessively filled 
with talk and thoughts 
of his games, this has, 
for the most part — in 
the mass, of course- 
taken the place not of 
thoughts of literature 
and work, but of far 
less desirable sub- 
jects. There is no 
doubt that the dis- 
cipline and general 
tone of our public 
schools is far better 
than it was fifty years 

Dr J. D, McClure, of Mill Hill School, 
writes : — 

" I have no knowledge (save that de- 
rived from books and fragments of con- 
versation) of the schoolboy of fifty years 
ago ; but the schoolboys of to-day seem to 
me much better fellows than those whom I 
knew thirty years ago, I find a similar 
impression prevails amongst many of those 
who have been acquainted with the Univer- 
sities of Oxford and Gun bridge for the last 

forty or fifty years. 
The difficulties 
and dangers which 
beset school - life 
are probably as 
great as ever* but 
I see no signs of 
any such deterio- 
ration as that to 
which your letter 
alludes. I think it 
only fair to warn 
you, however, 
first, that my ex- 
perience is not 
very extensive ; 
and, secondly, 
that many great 
and good men 
tell me that I am 
extravagantly op- 
timistic, and that 
no set of boys 
ever were or ever 
can be quite so 
good as I make 

DR. j. e. MCCl-UWE 

JYtmt a Photo. 

— mux hill school. OriQ in af from 

* ■"■"'University of Michigan 

them out to be." 

•FVom a} 



From Behind the Speakers Chair— in Congress. 

Viewed bv Henry W. Lucy. 

ROB ABLY the impression 
first conveyed to the mind of a 
visitor to the Strangers' Gallery 
of the House of Commons is 
one of surprise at the small- 
ness of the Chamber. 

Is this the face that launched a thousand ships, 
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium ? 

Is this the House redolent with memories 
of Pitt and Fox, where but yesterday Disraeli 
and Gladstone faced each other across the 
u substantial piece of furniture," the table 
to wit, which on a historic occasion Dizzy 
thanked Heaven stood between him and 
Gladstone in the prime and passion of his 
manhood ? 

Well, not exactly. Pitt and Fox never sat 
in the present House of Commons, But the 
rase is made stronger by the fact that the 
old House, destroyed by fire seventy years 
ago, was even less commodious. It is 
one of the flashes of that British humour 
the existence of which Americans deny 
that, having to provide sitting room 
for six hundred and seventy members, 
the House of Commons was built with seats 
for three hundred and six. America, 
always subservient to business principles, 
provides not only a seat for every member 
of Congress up to the maximum number, 

but adds a desk amply furnished with 
accessories. Moreover, the chair is not 
one of your straight-backed, stiff, hard con- 
trivances, It is a comfortable rocker t set on 
a pivot, a plan that enables a representative 
of contemplative mind slowly to revolve, 
viewing the situation from all points of view. 
One hundred and thirty-nine feet long, ninety- 
three feet wide, and thirty-eight feet high, 
the Hall of Representatives — to quote its 
official designation — provides desks for three 
hundred and fifty-two members and four 

Naturally in a country based on democratic 
principles there is no trace of the antique, 
occasionally grotesque, tyranny that guards 
the sacred precincts of the British Parliament 
against the offending foot of a class some 
forty-three millions strong haughtily known 
as il strangers. 51 As a matter of fact, by far 
the larger area of the Hall is devoted to the 
convenience of the people. The spacious 
galleries that, facing the Chair, half encircle 
the Chamber will seat no fewer than 2,500. 
Indies have their especial and favoured seats, 
but are at liberty to make room beside them 
for brothers, cousins, or even husbands. 
There is no grille^ nor necessity on the part 
of male or female to go a-begging for orders 
of admission, accept, of course, to specially 




reserved places, such as that reserved for the 
Diplomatic Corps — where t by the way, I T 
though not officially representing any 
European nation, was by favour of the Secre- 
tary of State made free during my stay in 

When, as on the opening day of a new 
Congress, the galleries are crowded, chiefly 

Thames, of observing their countenances and 
gestures throughout recurrent Parliamentary 
crises. They have no distinctive seats, corner 
or otherwise. Possibly it was an instinct of 
Mr. Pamell's American blood that impelled 
him, whilst he was the autocratic leader of 
the Irish Party, to sit anywhere among the 
rank and file of his followers, not as other 


IN • - J J 

*-" ~~ <^ 




with ladies dressed all in their best, every 
desk on the floor of the House occupied, the 
r scene presented is one of rare animation. I 
am bound to admit that r in respect of 
acoustical properties, the less spacious House 
of Commons is preferable. The gentleman 
from Ohio or the gentleman from Alabama, 
rising to speak from the benches to the right 
of the Chair in Congress, might as well, so 
far as occupants of the Diplomatic Gallery 
are concerned, be conversing in his native 

Political parties in Congress are divided 
into two camps, the Republican and the 
Democratic. A comparatively modern insti- 
tution, Congress has not attained the delicacy 
of distinction marked in the House of 
Commons by sitting above or below the 
Gallery. Nor has it yet developed a dis 
sentient Democratic Party or a section of 
Free Food Republicans. Each political 
party has its leader. But they do not sit 
opposite each other, affording the House 
opportumty t treasured on the banks of the 

leaders, including Mr. John Redmond, of the 
present day, insisting on the prominence of a 
comer seat. Such abstention is certainly the 
practice of the captains of parties in Congress- 

This observation leads to another point 
of distinction between Congress and the 
House of Commons which largely detracts 
from the dramatic attributes of the former. 
Since Ministers do not sit in the House 
there is no Treasury Bench or Front Oppo- 
sition Bench on which attention is focused 
Inevitably it follows that there is no question 
hour, frequently the liveliest, most important 
episode in a long sitting at Westminster, 

It would be vain to offer an opinion as 
to whether this is an advantage or other- 
wise. From a strictly business point of 
view it is distinctly preferable. Like the 
quality of mercy, it is twice blessed, It 
relieves an overworked Minister from the 
necessity of quitting his desk in the middle 
of the working day, having spent an appre- 
ciable portion of the morning in drafting, in 
reply ty ftfV |^ra@M QHffiJffl- ** «««' 


that, whilst apparently full, shall be as empty 
as possible of information. On the other 
hand, it enables the Legislative Assembly to 
get to business forthwith, free from the obli- 
gation to devote the first forty minutes of its 
sitting to a process of cross-examination, in 
which it k 1 possible for statesmen of the 
position of Mr. Weir to occupy an appre- 
ciable part. Congressmen are not wholly 
debarred from satisfying legitimate curiosity 
with respect to procedure in the executive 
departments of the State. But inquiry and 
reply are submitted in writing, and, there 
being no opportu- 
nity of cheap ad- 
vertisement such as 
is provided by the 
question hour in 
the House of Com- 
mons, patriotic 
curiosity subsides 
in marvellous 

Fundamental dif- 
ference between the 
House of Commons 
and Congress is 
found in the rela- 
tive positions of 
t h e presiding 
o f f i c e r- The 
Speaker in Con- 
gress is a political 
personage of avow- 
edly partisan type. 
It is true that 
the Chair of the House of Commons is 
among the spoils of the victors at a General 
Election. When a member of the House is 
for the first time inducted it is by favour of 
the majority of the political party to which 
he belongs. But once seated in the Chair 
ancient iwlitieal impulses and influences have 
no longer part in his life. He becomes 
absolutely a piece of judicial machinery, 
bent solely upon conducting in orderly 
fashion the daily business of the House. 

How absolute is the transformation 
wrought appears from the fact that the 
Speaker of the House of Commons is 
habitually re-elected when the chances of 
war at the poll have brought disaster to 
his quondam political friends, placing the 
Opposition in power. On the retirement of 
Mr, Peel in the spring of 1895, the Liberals 
then in office put forward Mr, Gully 
as candidate for the Chair, The Irish 
members, [>ereeiving their opportunity of 
paying off old scores, joined forces with the 

Conservative Opposition, who had a can- 
didate in the person of Sir Matthew White 
Ridley. Not that they had any personal 
objection to Mr. Gully. But here was a 
chance of kicking over the Chair, emblem 
of that authority they were openly pledged to 
belittle. The result of this coalition was that 
Mr, Gully's election was carried by the narrow 
majority of eleven* A few months later, the 
Liberals being routed at the poll, the Unionist 
Party was returned with a majority that made 
them absolute master of the destinies of 
the Chair* Ml Gully was re-elected without 




dissent, an honour renewed when, in 1900, 
another Parliament was elected confirming 
the right of the Unionist Party to do what 
they liked with the Chair, 

In Congress the Speaker is not only the 
nominee of his political party. In spite of 
his judicial position he remains its head. As 
representing the dominant party he most 
nearly approaches the position of Leader of 
the House, filled at the present time in the 
Commons by the Prime Minister, Mr, 
Cannon has, in truth, more personal power 
in Congress than \tr. Arthur Balfour has in 
the House of Commons. The work of 
Congress is systematically devolved upon 
standing committees. Every proposal of 
legislation, from whomsoever emanating, must 
be referred to one or other of these com- 
mittees, There are some threescore of 
them, varying in membership from five to 
seventeen, It is the Speaker who not 
only personally nominates committees, but 



rough hew them how they may, shapes their 
ends. As in the House of Commons, a 
majority of the committee is selected from 
the ranks of the dominant party. They 
elect the chairman, who, with the chairman 
of the other committees, forms a sort of 
Cabinet Council, which, under the presidency 
of the Speaker, manages the whole business 
of the House and the legislation of the year. 

Hence it will appear that in a free and 
independent nation there exists an autocratic 
control of the Legislature such as would not 
be permitted for a week in the Mother of 
Parliaments, modestly content to rank as 
merely one estate of the realm. 

In matters of ordered procedure there are 
some distinctive differences between the two 
Parliaments separated by the Atlantic. 
Both Senate and Congress meet through 
the Session at noon. They rarely sit beyond 
dusk, though, towards the close of a Session, 
obstruction is occasionally responsible for 
all-night sittings. In the Senate, as in the 
House of Lords, the rules governing debate 
are far more lax than in Congress. In the 
latter House there is a rule limiting to one 
hour the duration of speeches. In com- 
mittee of the whole House speeches are 
limited to five minutes, a regulation upon 
which those familiar with procedure in the 
Commons look with longing eye. 

In the Senate, free from the tyranny of 
such rules, speeches may be carried to any 
length. When the Panama Treaty last year 
came before the Senate for ratification, 
Senator Morgan successfully opposed it in a 
speech of several days* duration. Mr. Biggar 
made his first mark in the House of 
Commons by a speech that occupied four 
hours in delivery. It consisted chiefly of 
extracts from a Blue Book. The member 
for Cavan's achievement comes to nothing 
compared with that of the Senator from 
Alabama, On the third day of his rising in 
an almost empty House he, with compre- 
hensive sweep of his hand over the pile of 
books by which he stood in laager, blandly 
observed, " I wish to read a few volumes in 
support of my claim." As Mr. Gladstone 
said when his Reform Bill was defeated, 
"Time is on our side." Time was on the 
side of Senator Morgan. The end of the 
Session being close at hand, he triumphed to 
the extent that, the Session collapsing by 
lapse of time, it was necessary to summon an 
extra Session, in which in grim silence 
Senator Morgan saw the treaty ratified. 

In Congress the severity of the rule limit- 
ing duration of speeches is modified by the 

existence of the Congressional Record. A 
member having completed his hour's exhor- 
tation, or being abruptly pulled up in com- 
mittee on the five minutes' rule, may ask 
permission to "extend " his remarks. If this 
petition actually involved the meaning borne 
on its face it would, of course, be met by a 
stern negative. It is, however, merely a 
delicate way of soliciting authority for the 
printing in the Record of the continuation 
and conclusion of the member's speech. 
Consent must be unanimous. But as the 
members present do not incur any pecuniary 
responsibility for the printing of the speech 
or obligation to read the printed report, con- 
sent is rarely withheld. The United States 
are wealthy, and a few dollars added to the 
national printing bill is not worth considera- 
tion in hostility to the feeling of the member 
whose valued remarks have been cut short. 

The effect of Senator Morgan's obstructive 
opposition to the ratification of the Panama 
Canal Treaty was considerably minimized by 
the operation of a rule of procedure foreign 
to the practice of the House of Commons. 
In Congress business entered upon one 
Session and left unfinished at the time of 
adjournment is taken in hand in the succeed- 
ing Session of the same Congress. This is 
a common-sense proposal that has many 
advocates in the British Parliament. With 
us the greater part of a Session may have 
been devoted to the moulding of an import- 
ant measure, dropped in the last weeks of the 
Session for lack of time to carry it over the 
narrow strip of ground remaining. It may 
have reached the report stage, or even stand 
for third reading. 

The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower 
Unfinished must remain. 

The Bill, if brought in again in the following 
Session, must pass through all its stages as if 
it were a project quite new to the House. 
This is a stipulation so obviously absurd that 
effort has frequently been made to amend it. 
It is difficult to defend. But there it is, there 
it has been from time immemorial, and there, 
says the House, fanatically Conservative where 
its ancient procedure is concerned, it shall be. 
Privileged to be present at the opening of 
a new Session of Congress, in which the in- 
stallation of a Speaker was a leading incident, 
I was struck by the contrast between the two 
Legislatures. With us the election of a new 
Speaker, more especially if it be contested, is 
an incident of dramatic interest, its progress 
marked by ceremonial that goes back to 
Stuart times, h: Congress the business was 
accompli^fi/pp^jtjliat absence of fuss and 


strict attention to simple business principles 
that mark its whole procedure. As with us 
in the temporary non-existence of a Speaker, 
the Clerk of the House directed preliminary 
affairs. The Clerk of the House of Commons 
is in analogous circumstances so weighed 
down by sense of his own infirmity, inasmuch 
as he is not a duly elected member, that he 
is literally speechless. When the moment 
comes for the mover and seconder of the 

Clerk, cheerily rapping the table with what 
looked like an auctioneer's hammer, called 
upon "the gentleman from Iowa/' The mem- 
ber named rose and, in a brief speech, pro- 
posed Mr, Joseph Cannon as Speaker The 
name evidently struck members with a note 
of u n fam i liari ty . For t wen t y years t h e H ono ur- 
able Joseph G. Cannon, of Illinois, has been 
known at Washington as "Uncle Joe." It is, 
however, admitted that on such occasions as 

From a Photo, 6*1 


[Lett ffn*>. Watkinffion, 

resolution proposing election of a Speaker to 
act, the Clerk, nominally presiding, might be 
expected to call by name upon the gentleman 
to whose charge the resolution has been 
committed* Not he, under pain of the 
penalties of the Clock Tower, Pen in 
hand he dumbly points in turn to the 
mover and seconder, who, obeying the 
signal, rise. In Congress the Clerk, who, 
by the way, bears military rank as a major, 
is quite chirpy, volubly directing affairs 
with an air of authority that could not be 
more commanding if he were the Speaker 

Prayers said by a white-haired, blind 
chaplain, the roll of Congress was called in the 
alphabetical order of States. This done, the 

the opening of a new Session of Congress 
a certain measure of etiquette must be 
observed So, without audible protest* the 
Speaker-nominate was alluded to as "Mr. 
Cannon." He was the candidate of the 
Republican Party, returned to last Congress 
in overwhelming majority. The Opposition, 
undaunted, put up their man, and without 
more ado Congress divided. 

This also is a process entirely different from 
that observed at Westminster. Members 
called upon by name responded with cry of 
4i Cannon " or *' Williams, 5 * according to their 
political preference. One of the clerks at 
the table ticked off each vote, with the result 
that Mr. Cannon was found to have one 



hundred and sixty-six recorded for Mr. 

The process occupied twenty minutes, 
which in point of time compares unfavour- 
ably with a House of Commons division, 
whereby a muster considerably larger than 
that voting in Congress can record their 
votes in from twelve to eighteen minutes. 
The system at Westminster has the further 
advantage of introducing a wholesome break 
in the proceedings, giving wearied members 
a healthful trot round the Lobbies. It is 

cries of u Hear ! hear ! " In Congress mem- 
bers, when they desire to express approval, 
clap their hands after the fashion of the little 
hills familiar to the Psalmist, 

The Speaker having made acknowledg- 
ment of the honour done him, the process 
of swearing-in was commenced and rapidly 
accomplished. Herein, in respect of getting 
rapidly through what is after all a formal 
business^ Congress has the advantage. The 
swearing-in of a new House of Commons is 
a performance that occupies several days of a 


direfully monotonous to sit and listen to the 
Clerk calling out three hundred and sixty 
four names, to which comes the monotonous 
response, " Cannon w or i( Williams," as the 
case may be* 

The election decided, the oldest member 
was dispatched in search of the new* Speaker, 
modestly lurking in the Lobby. When 
found he entered, leaning on the arm of his 
introducers, members of both political parties 
upstanding to receive him. Then followed a 
pretty incident. The Leader of the Opposi 
tion, who had made counter proposition in 
the election proceedings l advancing, con 
ducted the new Speaker to the Chair, pro 
nouncing brief but hearty eulogy. This led 
to a demonstration unfamiliar in the House 
of Commons. In that assembly the incident 
would have been recorded by deep-chested 

Session. Rows of tables are set out in the 
middle of the floor. Bibles are scrambled 
for, and groups of from ten to fifteen members 
are worked off with more or less of celerity 
and dispatch. Swearing-in members of Con- 
gress is a simpler procedure, and is more 
decently accomplished. The first to undergo 
the process was the Speaker, Standing on 
the white marble dais, on which his un- 
adorned chair is placed, the Speaker uplifted 
his right hand, whilst the oldest member, 
standing well out on the carpeted space 
before him, recited the terms of the oath* 
There was no kissing the book nor repetition 
of the oath by the member. His hand 
uplifted signified acquiescence. 

The Speaker sworn in, members were 
called, again m the alphabetical order of 
their ^9tRffif%^^^ffl before the 


table, hands were uplifted, the oath was read, 
a group disappeared and another took its 
place. It was all over in half an hour, and, 
the Speaker rapping the table with an auo 
tioneer's hammer a size larger than that used 
by the Clerk, the business of the special 
Session of the fifty-eighth Congress of the 
United States was forthwith entered upon. 

The distinctive note of a sitting of 
Congress is its simple, severe business in- 
tention. As we have seen in connection 
with the election of a new Speaker, there is 
no pomp or ceremony, no procession of the 
Speaker arrayed in wig and gown, escorted 
to and from the Chair by the Serjeant-at- 
Arms carrying shoulder high the mace. As 
far as persona! appearanee is concerned the 
Speaker of Congress is differentiated from 
unofficial members only by the fact that his 
chair is set by itself on a marble plat- 
form, slightly raised, and he more or less 
conceals about his person an auctioneer's 

One little human weakness displayed on 
the occasion of the opening of the new Ses- 
sion is perhaps due directly to domestic im- 
pulses. Some years 
ago, the head of a 
f a m i I y having 
been elected to 
a seat in Con- 
gress, it occurred 
to the daughters 
of his household 
to place on his 
desk a bouquet of 
flowers* There 
was about the pro- 
ceeding something 
sweetly reminiscent 
of bridal custom 
in other associa- 
tions. It took on 
at once, grew into 
a custom, and has, 
in this twentieth 
century, assumed 
proportions em- 
barrassing to the 
pages in attend- 
ance and the pro- 
g ress of public 

Looking down 
from the Diplo- 
matic Gallery upon 
the corridor be- 
hind the Speaker's 
Chair, I caught 

glimpses of what seemed a flower garden. 
These were the bouquets committed to 
the charge of the pages awaiting oppor- 
tunity of bringing them in. They came 
with a rush as soon as seats had been 
drawn and occupied. Carnival seemed 
to have come to Washington. Some Con- 
gressmen sat blushing behind bouquets 
piled chin-high on the desk before them* It 
was a scene upon which Uncle Joe might be 
supposed to have looked with the friendly eye 
of a family man. Avuncular instincts, well 
enough in the case of a private member, are 
unsuitable for full display in the Speaker's 
Chair, After w T atching the tumult for a while 
Uncle Joe rose and, whacking the table with 
forbidding hammer, decreed that no more 
flowers should be brought in. 

The ladies in the galleries opposite, many 
of whom had bestowed thought and money 
on bouquets for husband or father^ looked as 
if conviction were forced upon them that 
they had been mistaken in their original 
estimate of Uncle Joe. 

The process of securing seats is more 
primitive than that which prevails at West- 
minster. In the 
House of Com- 
mons attendance 
at prayer-time is a 
necessary condi- 
tion of securing 
through the sitting 
a desirable place. 
In Congress the 
bal lot - b o x is 
brought into re- 
quisition. A page 
is blindfolded and, 
dipping his hand 
into the box, 
draws forth a 
number corre- 
sponding with the 
name of a particu- 
lar member, A seat 
thus secured be- 
longs to the mem- 
ber for the rest of 
the Session, and 
the pother ends. 

This is a small 
matter, in connec- 
tion with which the 
Mother of Parlia- 
ments might well 
take a lesson from 
her eldest and moat 
vigorous daughter. 





jRTFULNESS,' 1 said the 

night - watchman, smoking 
placidly, " is a gift ; but it 
don't always pay. I've met 
some artful ones in my time 
plenty of 'em ; hut I cant 
truthfully say as 'ow any of them was the 
better for meeting me.' 1 

He rose slowly from the packing-case on 
which he had been sitting and, stamping 
down the point of a rusty nail with his heel, 
resumed his seat, remarking that he had 
endured it for some time under the impres- 
sion that it was only a splinter. 

** I've surprised more than one in my 
time," he continued, slowly. " When I met 
one of these 'ere artful ones I used fust of 
all to pretend to be more stupid than wot I 
really am," 

He stopped and stared fixedly. 

11 More stupid than I looked/' he said* 

He stopped again. 

u More stupid than wot they thought I 
looked/' he said, speaking with marked 
deliberation. And I'd let 'em go on and 
on until I thought I had 'ad about enough, 

Copyright^ 1905+ by W. W. Jacobs, 

and then turn round on em. Nobody ever 
got the better <>' me except my wife, and 
that was only before we was married. Two 
nights arter wards she found a fish hook in 
my trouser- pocket, and arter that I could 
ha left untold gold there— if I'd ha' had it. 
It spoilt wot some people call the honey- 
moon, but it paid in the long run. 

One o T the worst things a man can do is 
to take up artfulness all of a sudden. I 
never knew it to answer yet, and I can tell 
you of a case that'll prove my words true. 

Its some years ago now, and the chap it 
appened to was a young man, a shipmate o' 
mine, named Charlie Tagg, Very steady 
young chap he was, too steady for most of 
cm. That s *ow it was me and T im got to be 
such pals, 

He'd been saving up for years to get 
married, and all the advice we could give T im 
didn't 'ave any effect He saved up nearly 
every penny of Is money and gave it to his 
gal to keep for 'im, and the time I'm speaking 
of she'd got seventy two pounds of 'is and 
seventeen -and -six of er own to set up house- 
keeping withoriginalfrom 



Then a thing happened that I've known 
to 'appen to sailormen afore. At Sydney 'e 
got silly on another gal, and started walking 
out with her, and afore he knew wot he was 
about he'd promised to marry 'er too. 

Sydney and London being a long way from 
each other was in 'is favour, but the thing 
that troubled 'im was 'ow to get that seventy- 
two pounds out of Emma Cook, 'is London 
gal, so as he could marry the other with it. It 
worried 'im all the way home, and by the 
time we got into the l^ondon river 'is head was 
all in a maze with it. Emma Cook 'ad got it 
all saved up in the bank, to take a little shop 
with when they got spliced, and 'ow to get it 
he could not think. 

He went straight off to Poplar, where she 
lived, as soon as the ship was berthed. He 
walked all the way so as to 'ave more time 
for thinking, but wot with bumping into two 
old gentlemen with bad tempers, and being 
nearly run over by a cabman with a white 
'orse and red whiskers, he got to the house 
without 'aving thought of anything. 

They was just finishing their tea as 'e got 
there, and they all seemed so pleased to see 
'im that it made it worse than ever for 'im. 
Mrs. Cook, who 'ad pretty near finished, 
gave 'im her own cup to drink out of, and 
said that she 'ad dreamt of 'im the night 
afore last, and old Cook said that he 'ad got 
so good looking 'e shouldn't 'ave known 

" I should 'ave passed 'im in the street," 
he ses. " I never see such an alteration." 

" They'll be a nice-looking couple," ses his 
wife, looking at a young chap, named George 
Smith, that 'ad been sitting next to Emma. 

Charlie Tagg filled 'is mouth with bread 
and butter, and wondered ? ow he was to 
begin. He squeezed Emma's 'and just for 
the sake of keeping up appearances, and all 
the time 'e was thinking of the other gal 
waiting for 'im thousands o' miles away. 

" You've come 'ome just in the nick o' 
time," ses old Cook; "if you'd done it o' 
purpose you couldn't 'ave arranged it better." 

" Somebody's birthday?" ses Charlie, trying 
to smile. 

Old Cook shook his 'ead. "Though mine 
is next Wednesday," he ses, " and thank you 
for thinking of it. No; you're just in time 
for the biggest bargain in the chandlery line 
that anybody ever 'ad a chance of. If you 
'adn't ha' come back we should have 'ad to 
ha' done it without you." 

" Eighty pounds," ses Mrs. Cook, smiling 
at Charlie. " With the money Emma's got 
saved and your wages this trip you'll 'ave 

Digitized by dOOgle 

plenty. You must come round arter tea and 
'ave a look at it." 

11 Little place not arf a mile from 'ere," ses 
old Cook. "Properly worked up, the way 
Emma'll do it, it'll be a little fortune. I wish 
I'd had a chance like it in my young time." 

He sat shaking his 'ead to think wot he'd 
lost, and Charlie Tagg sat staring at 'im and 
wondering wot he was to do. 

" My idea is for Charlie to go for a few 
more v'y'ges arter they're married while 
Emma works up the business," ses Mrs. 
Cook; "shell be all right with young Bill 
and Sarah Ann to 'elp her and keep 'er com- 
pany while he's away." 

" We'll see as she ain't lonely,'' ses George 
Smith, turning to Charlie. 

Charlie Tagg gave a bit of a cough and 
said it wanted considering. He said it was 
no good doing things in a 'urry and then 
repenting of 'em all the rest of your life. 
And 'e said he'd been given to understand 
that chandlery wasn't wot it 'ad been, and 
some of the cleverest people 'e knew thought 
that it would be worse before it was better. 
By the time he'd finished they was all looking 
at 'im as though they couldn't believe their 

" You just step round and 'ave a look at 
the place," ses old Cook ; " if that don't make 
you alter your tune, call me a sinner." 

Charlie Tagg felt as though 'e could ha' 
called 'im a lot o' worse things than that, but 
he took up 'is hat and Mrs. Cook and Emma 
got their bonnets on and they went round. 

" I don't think much of it for eighty 
pounds," ses Charlie, beginning his artfulness 
as they came near a big shop, with plate-glass 
and a double front. 

" Eh ? " ses old Cook, staring at 'im. 
"Why, that ain't the pla<;e. Why, you 
wouldn't get that for eight 'undred." 

"Well, I don't think much of it," ses 
Charlie ; " if it's worse than that I can't look 
at it — I can't, indeed." 

" You ain't been drinking, Charlie ? " ses 
old Cook, in a puzzled voice. 

" Cert'nly not," ses Charlie. 

He was pleased to see 'ow anxious they all 
looked, and when they did come to the shop 'e 
set up a laugh that old Cook said chilled the 
marrer in 'is bones. He stood looking in a 
'elpless sort o ; way at his wife and Emma, 
and then at last he ses, " There it is ; and a 
fair bargain at the price." 

" I s'pose you ain't been drinking ? " ses 

"Wot's the matter with it?" ses Mrs. 

Cook ' flarin * Whalfrom 



St^ fcHMA." 

" Come inside and look at it," ses Emma, 
taking 'old of his arm. 

" Not mc f n ses Charlie, hanging back, 
" Why, I wouldn't take it at a gift." 

He stood there on the kerbstone, and all 
they could do *e wouldn't budge. He said 
it was a bad road and a little shop, and 'ad 
got a look about it he didn't like. They 
walked back 'ome like a funeral procession, 
and Emma 'ad to keep saying " IT shy* in 
w'ispers to er n^pther all the way. 

11 I don't know wot Charlie does want, I'm 
sure/ 1 ses Mr**. Cook, taking off 'er t ion net 
as soon as she got indoors and pitching it on 
the chair he was just going to set down on. 

"It's so awk'ard," ses old Cook, rubbing 
his 'ead- " Fact is, Charlie, we pretty near 
gave 'em to understand as we'd buy it. ?? 

" It's as good as settled," ses Mrs. Cook, 
trembling all over with temper. 

11 They won't settle till they get the 
money," ses Charlie. " You may make your 
mind easy about that." 

"Emma's drawn it all out of the hank 
ready," ses old Cook, eager like, 

Charlie felt 'ot and cold all over. "I'd 
better take care of it," he ses, in a trembling 
voice. " You might be robbed." 

11 So might you he," ses Mrs. Cook, 

Digitized by GoOglC 

" Don t you worry ; 
it's in a safe place." 

M Sailormen are 
always being robbed," 
ses George Smith, 
who 'ad been helping 
young Bill with T is 
sums while they 'ad 
gone to look at the 
shop. " There's more 
sailormen robbed 
than all the rest put 

"They wont rob 
Charlie," ses Mrs. 
Cook, pressing er lips 
together- " I'll take 
care o' that." 

Charlie tried to 
laugh, but 'e made 
such a queer noise 
that young Hill made 
a large blot on 'is 
exercise-bonk and old 
Cook, wot was light- 
ing his pipe, burnt 'is 
fingers through not 
looking wot 'e was 

"You see, 1 ses 

Charlie, "if I was robbed, which ain't at all 

likely, it p ud only be me losing my own 

money ; but if you was robbed of it you'd 

never forgive yourselves," 

" I dessay I should get over it," ses Mrs. 

Cook, sniffing, "I'd 'ave a try, at all events," 
Charlie started to laugh agin, and old 

Cook, who 'ad struck another match, blew it 

out and waited till he'd finished, 

4 * The whole truth is,* ses Charlie, looking 

round, " I've got something better to do 

with the money. I've got a chance offered 

me that'll make me able to double it afore 

you know where you an-/' 

" Not afore I know where I am," ses Mrs. 

Cook, with a laugh that was worse than 


"The chance of a lifetime," ses Charlie, 

trying to keep 'is temper. " I can't tell you 

wot it ts, because I've promised to keep it 

secret for a time, You'll be surprised when 

I do tell you/' 

" If I wait till then till I'm surprised," ses 

Mrs. Cook, " I shall 'ave to wait a long time. 

My advice to you is to take that shop and 

ha' done with it. 1 ' 

Charlie sat there arguing all the evening, 

but it was no good, and the idea o 1 them 

people sitting there p.nd refusing to let ^im 
si? \ i ■_ i r ■ ^ 




have his own money pretty near sent 1m 
crazy. It was all *e could do to kiss Emma 
goodnight, and *e couldn't have 'elped 
slamming the front door if he'd been paid 
for it The only comfort he ? ad got left was 
the Sydney gal's photygraph, and he took 
that out and looked at it under nearly every 
lamp-post he passed. 

He went round the next night and 'ad 
another try to get J is money, but it was no 
use ; and all the good he done was to make 
Mrs, Cook in such a temper that slu: ad to 
go to bed before he 'ad arf finished, It was 
no good talking to old Cook and Emma, 
because they daren't do anything without 'er, 
and it was no good calling things up the 
stairs to her because she didn't answer. 
Three nights running Mrs. Cook went oF to 
bed afore eight o'clock, for fear she should 
say something to f im as she'd be sorry for 
arter wards ; and for three nights Charlie made 
'imself so disagreeable that Km ma told 'im 
plain the sooner 'e went back to sea agin the 
better she should like it The only one who 
seemed to enjoy it was George Smith, and 'e 
used to bring bits out o' newspapers and read 
to em, showing ow silly people was done out 
of their money. 
On the fourth night Charlie dropped it and 

made 'imself so amiable that Mrs. Cook 

stayed up and made 'im a Welsh rare-bit for 
is supper, and 

made 'irn drink two 

glasses o' beer in- 
stead o T one, while 

old Cook sat and 

drank three glasses 

o' water just out o s 

temper, and to 

show that 'e didn't 

mind. When she 

started on the 

chandler's shop 

agin Charlie said 

he'd think it over, 

and when *e went 

away Mrs, Cook 

catted 3 im her 

sailor - boy and 

wished 'im pleasant 


But Charlie Tagg 

'ad got better things 

to do than to 

dream, and J e sat 

up in bed arf the 

night thinking out 

a new plan he'd 

thought of to get 

that money. When ; e did fall asleep at lasl 
'e dreamt of taking a little farm in Australia 
and riding about on 'orseback with the 
Sydney gal watching his men at work. 

Fn the morning he went and hunted up a 
shipmate of 'is ? a young feller named Jack 
Bates. Jack was one o* these 'ere chaps, 
nobody's enemy but their own, as the saying 
is ; a good-'arted, free-'anded chap as you 
could wish to see. Everybody liked 'im, and 
the ship's cat loved 'im. He'd ha J sold 
the shirt off 'is back to oblige a pal, and 
three times in one week he got 'is face 
scratched for trying to prevent 'usbands 
knocking their wives about 

Charlie Tagg went to 'im because be was 
the only man 'e could trust, and for over arf 
an hour he was telling Jack Bates all 'is 
troubles, and at last, as a great favour, he fet 
'im see the Sydney gal's photy graph, and told 
him that all that pore gal's future ? appiness 
depended upon Im. 

M I'll step round to-night and rob em of 
that seventy- two pounds," ses Jack; ''it's 
your money, and you've a right to it," 

Charlie shook his 'ead. "That wouldn't 
do," he ses; "besides, I don't know where 
they keep it. No ; I've got a better plan than 
that Come round to the Crooked Billet, so 
as we can talk it over in peace and quiet." 

He stood Jack three or four arf-pints afore 


thkee ok rav* ARF-nfiQr**gifiteakfraJQlTiM his plan 




'e told 'im his plan, and Jack was so pleareJ 
with it that he wanted to start at once, but 
Charlie persuaded 5 im to wait 

"And don't you spare me, mind, out o 1 
friendship/' ses Charlie, H because the blacker 
you paint me the better I shall like it." 

(< You trust me, mate," ses Jack Bates ; " if 
I don't get that seventy-two pounds for you, 
you may call me a Dutchman, Why, it's fair 
robbery, I call it, sticking to your money like 
that" ' 

They spent the rest o' the day together, 
and when evening came Charlie went off to 
the Cooks 1 . Emma 'ad arf expected they 
was going to a theayter that night, but 
Charlie said he wasn't feeling the thing, and 
he sat there so quiet and miserable they 
didn't know wot to make of J im. 

" 'Ave you 
got any trouble 
on your mind, 
Charlie," ses 
Mrs. Cook, "or 
is it the tooth- 
ache ? " 

"It ain't the 
toothache/' ses 

He sat there 
pulling a long 
face and staring 
at the floor, but 
all Mrs. Cook 
and E m m a 
could do 'e 
wouldn't tell 
them wot was 
the matter with 
'im. He said 
'e didn't want to 
worry other 
people with 'is 
troubles; let 
everybody bear 

'ad tjuieted Sarah Ann with a bowl o' cold 
water that young Bill *ad the presence o J 
mind to go and fetch. "Gaol! What 

"You wouldn't believe if I was to tell 
you," ses Charlie, getting up to go, "and, 
besides, I don't want any of you to think as 
J ow I am worse than wot I am." 

He shook his 'ead at them sorrowful like, 
and alore they could stop *im he 'ad gone- 
Old Cook shouted arter 'im, but it was no use, 
and the others was running into the scullery to 
fill the bowl agin for Emma. 

Mrs. Cook went round to 'is lodgings next 
morning, but found that *e was out. They 
began to fancy all sorts o' things then, but 
Charlie turned up agin that evening more 
miserable than ever. 


their own, that 

was 'is motto. 

Even when George Smith offered to go to the 

theayter with Emma instead of 'im. he didn't 

fire up, and, if it 'adn't ha' been for Mrs. 

Cook, George wouldn't ha 1 been sorry that 'e 


" Theayters ain't for me," ses Charlie, with 
a groan. u I'm more likely to go to gaol, so 
far as I can see, than a theayter." 

Mrs. Cook and Emma both screamed and 
Sarah Ann did 'er first highstericks, and very 
well, too, considering that she 'ad only just 
turned fifteen* 

11 Gaol ! " ses old Cook, as soon as they 

t boogie 

" I went round to see you this morning," 
ses Mrs. Cook, "but you wasn't at "ome," 

" I never am, 'ardly/' ses Charlie. " I can't 
be — it ain't safe." 

"Why not?" ses Mrs. Cook, fidgeting. 

" If I was to tell you, you'd lose your good 
opinion of me," ses Charlie. 

" It wouldn't be much to lose," ses Mrs. 
Cook, firing up. 

Charlie didn't answer 'er. When he did 
speak he spoke to the old man, and he was 
so down-arted that e gave 'im the chills 
a*most. He 'ardly took any notice of Emma, 





and, when Mrs. Cook spoke about the shop 
agin, said that chandlers' shops was for 
happy people, not for 'im. 

By the time they sat down to supper they 
was nearly all as miserable as Charlie 'imself. 
From words he let drop they all seemed to 
'ave the idea that the police was arter 'im, 
and Mrs. Cook was just asking 'im for wot 
she called the third and last time, but wot 
was more likely the hundred and third, wot 
he'd done, w r hen there was a knock at the 
front door, so loud and so sudden that old 
Cook and young Bill both cut their mouths 
at the same time. 

"Anybody 'ere o' the name of Emma 
Cook ? " ses a man's voice, when young Bill 
opened the door. 

" She's inside," ses the boy, and the next 
moment Jack Bates follered 'im into the 
room, and then fell back with a start as 'e 
saw Charlie Tagg. 

" Ho, 'ere you are, are you ?" he ses, look- 
ing at 'im very black. 

" Wot's the matter ? " ses Mrs. Cook, very 

" I didn't expect to 'ave the pleasure o' 
seeing you 'ere, my lad," ses Jack, still staring 
at Charlie, and twisting 'is face up into awful 
scowls. " Which is Emma Cook ? " 

" Miss Cook is my name," ses Emma, very 
sharp. " Wot d'ye want ? " 

" Very good," ses Jack Bates, looking at 
Charlie agin ; " then p'r'aps you'll do me the 
kindness of telling that lie o' yours agin afore 
this young lady." 

" It's the truth," ses Charlie, looking down 
at 'is plate. 

" If somebody don't tell me wot all this is 
about in tw r o minutes, I shall do something 
desprit," ses Mrs. Cook, getting up. 

"This 'ere — er — man," ses Jack Bates, 
pointing at Charlie, " owes me seventy-five 
pounds and won't pay. When I ask 'im for 
it he ses a party he's keeping company with, 
by the name of Emma Cook, 'as got it, and 
he can't get it." 

" So she has," ses Charlie, without looking 

" Wot does 'e owe you the money for ? " 
ses Mrs. Cook. 

" 'Cos I lent it to 'im," ses Jack. 

" Lent it ? What for ? " ses Mrs. Cook. 

" 'Cos I was a fool, I s'pose," ses Jack 
Bates ; " a good - natured fool. Anyway, 
I'm sick and tired of asking for it, and if I 
don't get it to-night I'm going to see the 
police about it." 

He sat down on a chair with 'is hat cocked 
over one eye, and thev all sat staring at 

* r 

'im as though they didn't know wot to say 

" So this is wot you meant when you said 
you'd got the chance of a lifetime, is it ? " ses 
Mrs. Cook to Charlie. "This is wot you 
wanted it for, is it ? Wot did you borrow all 
that money for ? " 

" Spend," ses Charlie, in a sulky voice. 

" Spend ! " ses Mrs. Cook, with a scream ; 
"wot in?" 

" Drink and cards mostly," ses Jack Bates, 
remembering wot Charlie 'ad told 'im about 
blackening 'is character. 

You might ha' heard a pin drop a'most, 
and Charlie sat there without saying a word. 

" Charlie's been led away," ses Mrs. Cook, 
looking 'ard at Jack Bates. " I s'pose you 
lent 'im the money to win it back from 'im at 
cards, didn't you ? " 

" And gave 'im too much licker fust," ses 
old Cook. " I've 'eard of your kind. If 
Charlie takes my advice 'e won't pay you a 
farthing. I should let you do your worst if I 
was 'im ; that's wot I should do. You've got 
a low face ; a nasty, ugly, low face." 

" One o' the worst I ever see," ses Mrs. 
Cook. " It looks as though it might ha' been 
cut out o' the Police JVews." 

" 'Owever could you ha' trusted a man with 
a face like that, Charlie ? " ses old Cook. 
" Come away from 'im, Bill ; I don't like such 
a chap in the room." 

Jack Bates began to feel very awk'ard. 
They was all glaring at 'im as though they 
could eat 'im, and he wasn't used to such 
treatment. And, as a matter o' fact, he'd got 
a very good-'arted face. 

" You go out o' that door," ses old Cook, 
pointing to it. " Go and do your worst. 
You won't get any money 'ere." 

"Stop a minute," ses Emma, and afore 
they could stop 'er she ran upstairs. Mrs. 
Cook went arter 'er and 'igh words was heard 
up in the bedroom, but by-and-by Emma 
came dow f n holding her head very 'igh and 
looking at Jack Bates as though he was dirt. 

"How am I to know Charlie owes you 
this money ? " she ses. 

Jack Bates turned very red, and arter 
fumbling in 'is pockets took out about a 
dozen dirty little bits o' paper, which Charlie 
'ad given 'im for I O U's. Emma read 'em 
all, and then she threw a little parcel on the 

" There's your money," she ses ; " take it 
and go." 

Mrs. Cook and 'er father began to call out, 
but it was no good. 

" There's seventy! wo pounds there," ses 




Emma, who was very pale ; " and 'ere's a 
ring you can have to 'dp make up the rest," 
And she drew Charlie's ring off and throwed 
it on the table. " I've done with 'im for 
good," she ses, with a look at 'er mother. 

Jack Bates took up the money and the 
ring and stood there looking at ? er and trying 
to think wot to say. He'd always been un- 
common partial to the sex, and it did seem 
! ard to 'ave to stand there and take all that 
on account of Charlie Tagg« 

"I only wanted my own," he ses, at last, 
shuffling about the floor. 

* 4 Well, you've got it," ses Mrs. Cook, 
" and now you can go." 

"You're p f isoning the air of my front 
parlour/' ses old Cook, opening the winder a 
little at the top. 

" PVaps I ain't so bad as you think I am," 
ses Jack Hates, still looking at Emma, and with 
that 7 e walked over to Charlie and dumped 
down the money on the table in front of 
J im. "Take it," he ses, "and don't borrow 
any more. I make you a free gift of it, 

as* " 

" Can't talce it ? Why not ? " ses old Cook t 
staring, "This gentleman 'as given it to you/* 

"A free gift," ses Mrs. Cook, smiling at 
Jack very sweet. 

"I can't take it," ses Charlie, winking at 
Jack to take the money up and give it to 
'im outside on the quiet, as arranged, " I 
*ave my pride." 

" So 'ave I," ses Jack. " Are you going to 
take it?" 

Charlie gave Im another look. " No," he 
ses, "I can't take a favour, I borrowed the 
money and I'll pay it luck.' 5 

" Very good," ses Jack, taking it up, " It's 
my money, ain't it ?" 

"Yes," ses Charlie, taking no notice of 
Mrs. Cook and 'er husband, wot was both 
talking to 'im at once, and trying to persuade 
'im to alter his mind. 

" Then I give it to Miss Emma Cook," ses 
Jack Bates, putting it into her hands- u Good- 
night everybody and good luck." 

He slammed the front door behind Im and 
they 'card 'im go off down the road as if ! e 


F'r'aps my 'art ain't as black as my face/' he 
ses, turning to Mrs. Cook, 

They was all so surprised at fust that they 
couldn't speak, but old Cook smiled at 'im 
and put the winder up agin. And Charlie 
Tagg sat there arf mad with temper, looking 
as though 'e could eat Jack Bates without 
any salt, as the saying is. 

"I — I can't take it," he ses at last, with a 

Digitized by Google 


was going for fire-engines, Charlie sat there 
for a moment struck all of a heap, and then 
'e jumped up and dashed arter 'im. He just 
saw 'im disappearing round a corner, and he 
dklivt see 'im agin for a couple o* year 
arterwards, by which time the Sydney gal had 
'ad three or four young men arter 'im, and 
Emma, who J ad changed her name to Smith, 
was doing one o' the best businesses in the 
chandlery line in Poplar, 


How the Russian Censor Works. 

Illustrated with Examples of the Censor's "Blacking Out." 

By Frederick Dolman. 


N the war between Russia and 
Japan, it is said the Press 
censorship has been less severe 
in the Russian than in the 
Japanese army. This fact, if 
fact it be, is the more extra- 
ordinary inasmuch as the Press censorship, 
in the eyes of the Russian authorities, is not 
merely an expedient rendered necessary by 
the emergency of war, but an instrument of 
government under the normal conditions of 

The Press censorship is a department in 
the Ministry of the Interior, and is the most 
expensive part of its administrative machinery. 
Each of the governmental districts — they 
number sixty in European Russia — has its 
censor, with a staff of assistants more or less 
qualified as linguists. The proof-sheets of 
every Russian newspaper have first to be 
submitted to one or the other of these 
officials before it can be published, at the 
peril of suspension, or even suppression, if 
this precaution is not observed. Any article 
or part of an article, any paragraph, or even 
advertisement, disapproved of by this func- 
tionary has a pen drawn through it, and on 
the proofs being returned to the newspaper 
office the editor has to cut out the offending 
type. Sometimes large amounts of literary 
matter, on preparing which much time and 
labour have been spent, must thus be sacri- 
ficed and its space filled up as best it can be 
with " copy" kept in stock for its unimpeach- 
able character in the eyes of the censor. 

Proof-sheets of the substituted matter must 
be submitted, however, before he will pass 
the paper for press. In the case of daily 
papers in large towns it is probably about 
midnight when the censor returns the last 
sheets and closes his office. The most 
important news may arrive after this, but it 
cannot be published. " Moscow may burn to 
the ground or the Czar may be assassinated," 
as Mr. George Kennan once put it, " but after 
the censor has retired to his couch not a line 
of new matter can be put into the columns of 
the paper." 

Once or twice editorial ingenuity has got 
the better of despotic authority. The editor 
of the Siberian Gazette at Tomsk received 

Vol. xxbc— 27. 

gilized by v^iOOQ It 

back his set of proof-sheets from the censor 
with fully half the proposed contents of the 
morrow's paper ruled out. He and his staff 
were confronted with a most formidable task 
— some articles had to be patched up in 
order to repair the ravages of the censor's 
pen, others had to be altogether rewritten, 
and fresh " copy " found to take the place of 
whole columns of news which had been 
ruthlessly destroyed. In despair the editor 
gave up the task and sent the paper to press 
in the pitiable condition to which it had 
been reduced by official interference. As he 
doubtless expected would be the case, the 
numerous blank spaces made a greater 
impression upon the public mind than the 
most trenchant article attacking the Press 
censorship could have done. In a few days 
there was published an edict from the 
Minister of the Interior : " Blank spaces in 
the pages of newspapers are an implied 
protest against preliminary censorship and 
cannot be permitted." 

A more celebrated instance of the out- 
witting of tyranny occurred in 1886 in con- 
nection with the prohibited celebration of 
the twenty-fifth anniversary of the emanci- 
pation of the serfs. The newspapers were 
warned against making any reference to the 
celebration, and on the day of the anni- 
versary, February 19th, they all appeared — 
with one exception — in obedience to this 
command without a single word on the 
subject of its historical significance. The 
exception was the Moscow Gazette^ which 
celebrated the anniversary — and in a most 
effective fashion, too — by its non-publication 
on the day in question. In Moscow, at any 
rate, the date which the Government had 
willed should be quite ignored was thus 
rendered conspicuous and memorable by the 
non-appearance of its principal newspaper. 

The topics on which Russian journalists 
are to be gagged and muzzled are the subject 
of frequent circulars sent out from the 
Ministry of the Interior at St. Petersburg for 
the information and guidance of the censors' 
offices throughout the empire. These cir- 
culars are in the nature of confidential 
documents, although, to save themselves 
trouble in the performance of their duties, 




the recipients may sometimes show them to 
newspaper editors. It is impossible, therefore, 
for newspaper readers in Russia to know 
fully and definitely the subjects on which 
from time to time they are not allowed to 
be informed, and the course of events may 
for them be turned all awry without their 
having any idea of the fact. They know that 
certain themes are always tabooed by the 
censor, but they can never tell what piece of 
miscellaneous news or comment may not be 
hidden from them by the perversity or even 
stupidity of officials. 

In a book — " Russia : Political and 
Social " — published some time ago, written 
by a Russian and translated into English and 
French, there appeared a summary for one 
year of these communications from the 
Ministry of the Interior, as they were remem- 
bered by a newspaper editor who had been 
permitted to have a glimpse of them. The 
topics thus interdicted to the Press had a 
very wide range — from a revolt of peasants 
on a great nobleman's estate to an official 
inquiry into Jewish money-lending. The 
official communications placing these two 
matters under the ^ censor's ban may be 
regarded as characteYistic : — 

" Several journals are discussing in a sub- 
versive and violent form the affair of the 
Prince Chtcherbator with his peasants. Con- 
sidering that such articles have an injurious 
effect on the relations of peasants and pro- 
prietors, reference to this affair is prohibited." 

" It is considered indispensable to prohibit 
the publication of comments on the subject 
of the inquiries into the economic relations 
of the Jews and the inhabitants of certain 

In this country, however, we can probably 
obtain a more vivid impression of the work- 
ing of the Russian Press censorship from the 
results of its application to English' periodi- 
cals when imported into Russia. 

With the increasing diffusion of the world's 
literature and journalism and the widening 
knowledge in Russia itself of foreign lan- 
guages, it was natural and inevitable that the 
Press censorship should be extended to all 
printed matter reaching the Russian frontiers, 
from whatever quarter it might come. What 
was the use of preventing the publication of 
"sedition" by Russian newspapers if foreign 
journals, publishing what they pleased, were 
allowed to come into the country without 
check ? The censors could not send their 
ukases to the editors in London and Paris. 
They could hardly refuse, on the other hand, 
having regard to the obligations of the inter- 

by K: 



national postal service, to admit foreign 
periodicals into the country. 

The only thing to be done, therefore, was 
to subject them to rigorous examination at 
all the postal centres, and in some way 
destroy any part of their contents which 
might be considered obnoxious. The 
method usually adopted has been to " black 
out" the offending picture or article by 
means of a heavy stamp with coarse, thick 
ink, which, when dried, has an unpleasant 
touch and an evil smell. When the con- 
demned matter, however, reaches to whole 
pages of a journal the officials do not hesi- 
tate to save time and trouble by tearing 
out the pages. 

Personal inquiry at the principal London 
newspaper offices has established the fact 
that in recent years " blacking out " has been 
of comparatively frequent occurrence. No 
definite figures, of course, can be given on 
the subject, because it may be safely assumed 
that only occasionally do editors and pub- 
lishers in London hear of the fate which has 
befallen some part of a particular issue of 
their publications. The information usually 
comes in the form of a request from some 
correspondent in Russia, asking that this par- 
ticular column or page may be sent to them 
in a sealed envelope, and only in a propor- 
tionately few cases, it may be supposed, is 
this trouble taken in order to frustrate the 
labours of the censors. Now and again such 
correspondents have sent the " blacked out " 
articles with their letters in order to clearly 
indicate the deprivation that they have 
suffered. Unfortunately for the purpose of 
this article very few of these " blacked out " 
specimens have, amidst the rush and hurry of 
newspaper offices, escaped the waste-paper 
basket, and half those which illustrate it have 
had to be obtained direct from Russia. 

The war in the Far East has naturally in- 
creased the work of the censors in their deal- 
ings with the foreign Press, and several of the 
illustrations relate in one way or another, it 
will be seen, to this subject. A Times article 
which dared to suggest that Russian feeling 
on the war was not of unqualified and 
universal enthusiasm was " blacked out " 
when it reached St. Petersburg in the Mail— 
the Times tri- weekly edition — for October 24th 
last. An account of the North Sea outrage, 
with a leading article on the subject, together 
with various telegrams from the seat of war 
contained in the same number, were not 
interfered with. The same immunity, strange 
to say, had been enjoyed by a paragraph 
entitled " The Situation in Russia," which 




had appeared in the Mail three days earlier. 
It contained the essence of a letter which a 
correspondent had received From a friend in 
Russia, briefly putting forth the same view as 
that given in the article, " Russian Feeling 
on the War." But being only a short para- 
graph in small type at the bottom of the 
page it had evidently escaped the censor's 

This same issue of the Mail— for October 
21st, 1904— suffered nevertheless from two 
operations of the censorious implement. The 
victim in one case was a telegram from the 
Vienna correspondent of the Times describ- 
ing a serious riot at Odessa ; the other was 
a short article from one of its Russian corre- 
spondents dealing with the misapplication of 
the funds which had been raised for the 

krTr»8*iBTrio cr<jale a Uiniatry of Commerce 
with the rtignrm cf a State Department at 
\U dispoaaJ, arid al its bead 4 Seer c Lai? of 

Wb are &UII waiting to hca f of Mjffle warlike 
operation of importance ; but there is un- 
fartiiiiatcljr, no pan** j D the tide of news 
which tdh of an enemy more to be feared by 
the Rutti.™ GovcniTnent than the Japanese 
Heels and The corruptinn and dourn- 
riRht robbery winch prevails in the public 
ser vires is being steadily exposr-rj l0 the 
scandal of f he civilised world. Some striking 
facts !ire related this mo nun it b> the St 
Petersburg eoncapondent of the " Kk press ' 
The story would be uacrwkbU*, but after all 
wo have heard on unimpeachable Authority 
it is difficult to say tha-t anything is too had to 
be believed The credit of the latest revela- 
tion* is aligned to the Dowager Empress. 
the sister of o«r Queen Akxandlft. It ap 
pears that Her Majesty had generously sent 
some largs sums for the use of the Red CjOss 

r- agents in the Far East, hut the money never 
reached its destination, and the Empress 
caused investigations to be roide, which have 
had astounding results Not only has hard 
cash but stores haie been plun 
dered ? to the eatent, it is H*id, of at least 
thirty per cent, It is caJeuIated, indeed, 
the aggregate of the misappropriates is not 
less than seven millions sterling. While Im- 
perial benevolence has teen thus thwarted 
by official picking and stealing, the patriotic 
efforts of private individuals have not been 
more successful. The case la reported of a 
great I an downer in the Moscow district, who 
contributed a& much as £fl,000 to furnish an" 
ambulance tram, His donation mas acknow- 
ledged, and in due course h* heard it at the 
train had been got ready, and had started on 
Lbs journey, Asa matter of fact, nothing what- 
ever had been done, and the whole amount 
was traced to the pockets of three officials, 
As if to add insult to injury, ore of these 
actually gave a dinner in honour of the muni 
ficent donor* when the latter arripod m 
Moscow to make inquiries for himself 
To-day is uhe tercentenary of the founding 




work of the Red Cross Society on the battle- 
fields of Manchuria. The censorship is 
evidently most severe on any suggestion un- 
favourable to the probity of Russian officials. 
One of my other examples of the "blacking 
out" process is a note in the Globe for 
June 14th last referring to the same matter, 
and it may, I think, be concluded that official 
peculation in connection with the war is one 
of the subjects on which, if the Press censor- 
ship can prevent it, the Russian people are 
to know nothing. 

After this it is not at all surprising that 
ruthless hands should have been placed upon 
a column of notes by "The Conductor "of 
"Our Omnibus" in the People^ dealing inci- 
dentally with the questionable character of 
the Czar, the barbarism of Russia's institu- 

possible to create a Ministry, of CnTnnjnrce, 
H-iLh *he= resources of tr Stat* JDapartment *t 
it* di^oaal, and at iri ii*& V Secretary ol 

State ■.'■." 




ARTICLB WAS ?n A jtyQ j f| ft | f fQ m 





. **i „ M | *■ ^SwrJ 

^^^" 5r * a? ,, TiK?^Jfei* ,rT=: 


tions, and the M piracy w of some of its war- 
ships, notwithstanding the fact that the bear 
in the title-piece is given quite a tame and 
gentle appearance* Nor can we wonder that 
Mr, Perceval Gibbon's article from St. Peters- 
burg in the Daily Mail— "Lost Illusions: 
How Russia Meets Disaster *' — should have 
been doomed to extinction. The author of this 
account of the bearing of the Russians under 
the influence of the national rcwi>rs in the 
Far East is not altogether unsympathetic, but 
doubtless no amount of sympathy would 
have saved his article so long as it contained 
a frank reference to the Press censor and the 
futility of his work. As for Mr, L. F + Austin's 
pungent satire upon the same theme in the 

Illustrated London A r avs f it may be supposed 
that l he censor only regretted that he could 
not inflict upon him the fate of his article. 
His delight in extinguishing Mr. Austin's 
persiflage, it may be supposed, was even 
greater than that experienced in annihilating 
the humour of Mr. Punch, Russian sub- 
scribers of our merry contemporary had last 
October a double grievance, however, against 
the sensitive official. The irony of PuniKs 
account of the departure of the Baltic Fleet 
evidently so touched him to the quick that 
in his angry eagerness to obliterate he took 
no pains to spare the harmless but amusing 
picture, "Young Nighty Thoughts/' which 
filled the ce v^Ffn^£^fnR?fi e * 




1 ■•■ : 

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ht «r* Fw En 

LntA. <i M N> 1U1 b<*ud.iani U1> Efw«njrto| » mOikpc h 
ar U'p# laaailflM a» via ki^nt. «** ku-kww-, an J kw a|Hln b 1 
■I 1* bar aaaad af A| kpota «W jMk* — Owr flw nWt 

ihpL* w* n*4 il *■ «nai 1k 

, r,'|-ITl K MP t'^-n a-*}, Ti* 

*!■* * ■■ ■ •< uk> Pint * **■ Lmu 

_ Janaary B — Mt t f ae*al It 

■h-- f-^*t If 10» -TW Tm- B- . p 

been well with the picturo in 
Russia ; but a few words were 
added by way of congratulation to 
the Czar on this my of sunshine 
amidst the heavy clouds of national 
misfortune, the statement being 
made that M the advent of the 
Czarevitch has probably averted a 
revolution," This rather bold 
reference to the dread word " revo- 
lution " must have horrified the 
censor's souL But it also put him 
in a quandary. It would be 
sacrilege to defile the features of 
the Czarina, and yet the inscription 
attached to the portrait clearly 
could not be allowed to see the 
light, The difficulty was solved by 
entirely blacking it out, leaving the 
portrait nameless, but untouched, 

Of the "blacking out"' of illus- 
trations an example is given in 
these pages. The Russian Govern- 
ment shoots deserters from the 
army, but is unwilling that the fact 
should be known. At any rate, 

lymit* km dan anla TW 

jwrtH* jof iW FWh . a-- LrnuiT ftw - A am antral 
bad W ;«-*» n r 4fc#*r a»al It Ib nftWl d b h fm « 

In the course of his badinage 
Mr. L. F. Austin refers to two 
recent " blackings out Jt under- 
gone by the contents of the 
lilustrakd London Niews — an 
article by Mr, Charles Lowe on 
the " Russian Succession,'* in 
which the allusions to some of 
the Czar's ancestors were too 
faithful for the censor's taste, 
and 1 he t% Indies' Page/* wherein 
offence had been given by the 
suggestion, fortified by the exam- 
ples of the Russian Catherine 
and our own Elizabeth and Vic- 
toria, that, failing the birth of a 
son, Russia might benefit by the 
rule of another female Sovereign, 
The immediate provocation to 
his sprightly pen, however, had 
come from the censor's dealing 
with the lilustrakd London News 
portrait of the Czarina, which 
had been published with the 
title, "The Mother of a Czar To 
Be," If the editor had stopped 
there, probably all would have 


i'l'NtHS ¥ AC ¥. TM J V 


^"©ri^FPHPf WOTW FO "» «**■ SHOWN. 








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that is the natural conclusion to be drawn 
from the censor's obliteration of a drawing 
in the Daily Graphic last March depicting 
the execution of two recaptured soldiers 
before the Odessa garrison, The few words 
of letterpress descriptive of the picture, 
which ap[>eared in the corner of the page, 
suffered, of course, the same fate. Among 
an illiterate people such a picture, if it 
once got into general circulation, would be 
far more " pernicious " from the official 
point of view than any number of articles 
which are intelligible only to the educated 

Digitized by G 

few ; and it may be supposed that the 
censors are instructed to be particularly 
stringent in their examination of the work of 
newspaper artists. Very few copies of our 
illustrated papers, however, are sent to 
Russia, I believe, and examples of "blacked 
out " illustrations are consequently even 
more difficult to procure than those of 
"blacked out" letterpress. 

Another example appeared in the weekly 
Graphic as long ago as February 7 th, 
1891, and is a picture which, one would 
have thought, might f have been found in- 



Ttffi * MP BBAJ Micr TUESDAY, MjfirH s« r IM4, 

2I 5 


* ■' ■ M \ ■ "J.l> 


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«J .k.. hMU * .. II. «*f* «* ** ^1*. IkiVlH !K^™ ***> f**V- Ml UH.QM 

*"rtH OOi/Mrft Mil* 

«. 1%. H.4l»^ 

1 Oiuc- li 


offensive in the eyes of the most suspicious 
of censors* To discover the '* sedition ?J 
lurking in this representation of the manly 
sport in which the then Czarevitch was 
participating during his visit to India 
might well become, indeed, the object of a 
puzzle competition. The best solutions that, 
after much consideration, I can suggest are 
as follows : — 

The picture was u seditious' because the 
son of the Oar cjf All the Russias was not 
placed in the centre of the group of sportsmen. 

Digitized by G< 

It was "seditious" because it indicated, 
with the accompanying letterpress (also 
li blacked out ''), that he was not skilful or 
ready enough with the gun to shoot the 

It was " seditious " because it suggested that 
he owed his personal safety to the greater 
skill and readiness of other members of the 

The Morning Lfaderh&s had an experience 
of the Russian Press censor which, so far as 
my inquiries have gone, would seem to be 
Original Trom 




unique. On May 7th, 1900, it contained an 
"exclusive" account of a riot at Warsaw, 
the circumstances of which were somewhat 
similar to those of the more recent dis- 
turbance at Odessa, as described in the 
" blacked out " message from the Vienna 
correspondent of the Times. The Morning 
Leaders description of the Warsaw outbreak, 
running to about a third of a column, was 
not " blacked out " ; but several copies of 
the paper were returned to the office marked 
" Refused by the Censor," as is shown in 
the accompany- 
ing reproduc- 
tion. The reason 
for this depar- 
ture from the 
censor's usual 
practice, for 
which definite 
provision would 
seem to be made 
in the shape of 
a printing stamp, 
can be only con- 
jectured. Per- 
haps it was 
adopted because 
several copies of 
a paper contain- 
ing obnoxious 
matter happened 
to fall into the 

fft Oct* of Noft-dttttvrr Baton to 

"Aborning Xeabet/ 


official opinion they are wholly excluded. 
The leisure left to the censors by the exami- 
nation of newspapers would seem to be 
insufficient for an adequate perusal of books, 
with results that are sometimes quite 
ludicrous. Thus, some time ago the circula- 
tion of a French work was forbidden because 
it was entitled " Communism," although in 
point of fact it was an argument against the 
communistic form of society. One of Agassiz's 
books on natural history and Elis^e Reclus's 
"Geography" were both placed for a time 

on this Russian 
Index Expurga- 
totius. The 
same edict of 
exclusion has at 
times been 
passed upon 
particular news- 
papers, but these 
were, I believe, 
avowed organs 
of Nihilism or 

It need hardly 
be said that the 
practical work- 
ing of the Press 
censorship is a 
great hindrance 
to the circula- 
t i on of all 


official's hands 

at the same time ; or it may have been in 
the nature of an experiment as to the lengths 
to which the Russian Post Office could go 
without exciting international protest. If the 
latter explanation is the true one the experi- 
ment would seem to have had an unsatis- 
factory issue. As I have said, no other case 
of this policy of complete prohibition has 
been brought to my notice at any of the 
numerous London newspaper offices which 
I have visited in connection with the pre- 
paration of this article. On the other hand, 
the " blacking out" process, as exemplified 
in these pages, has since that date been 
applied to foreign periodicals with unabated 

The Russian censorship over foreign news- 
papers has its counterpart, of course, in a 
censorship over foreign books, and if these 
are found to contain anything obnoxious to 

kinds of foreign 
literature in Russia. There is first the 
delay in transmission due to the rigorous 
examination of each newspaper wrapper or 
book packet — and in the case of news- 
papers a few hours' delay is of importance. 
There is further the mutilation or obliteration 
of a more or less important part of the 
reading matter. One can well understand 
that in some cases the irritation caused 
by a " blacked out " article or picture 
— a fathomless void which the eye can- 
not penetrate — will quite outweigh the 
pleasure taken in all the other contents of a 
periodical. At the offices of Punch I learned 
that the " blacking out v of several cartoons 
in recent years had almost destroyed what 
little circulation the paper enjoyed in the 
dominions of the Czar. Unsatisfied curiosity 
as regards a Fundi cartoon must indeed be 
a painful feeling. 

by Google 

Original from 


By Margaret Drummond. 


APPY is the man that attaches 
no meaning to the word 
"fatigue." But, alas ! in these 
days of strenuous living, when 
we are all striving to keep 
abreast of each other, almost 
everyone knows only too well the heavy 
limbs, the inertia, the want of spring, which 
go to make up that tired feeling that robs life 
of its zest for so many of us. With some 
people the state becomes chronic : they go 
to bed tired and they wake up more tired. 
Other unfortunates go to bed fresh but awake 
languid, as if, like the princesses of the fairy 
tale, they had danced their shoes through in 
the night. More universally familiar is the 
fatigue which results from muscular exercise, 
and which is most acute when we are out of 
practice. The first tennis or hunting of the 
season is apt to beget stiffness and to render 
every movement painful. 

It is with such muscular sensations that 
we ordinarily associate the word 
"fatigue," and if we examine 
them carefully we shall see that 
they present two sides — an in- 
ward and an outward, or, as it 
is technically expressed, a sub- 
jective and an objective. Sub- 
jectively, we have the sensation 
of weariness — an ache more or 
less acute in our limbs, or even 
throughout our whole body ; 
objectively, we find that our 
members are reluctant to move, 
or even, in extreme cases, are incapable of 
performing the work demanded of them. 
An interesting illustration of the alterations 
in the power of the muscles brought about 
by fatigue is given by examining one's hand- 
writing after the muscles of the arm have 
been exhausted by dumb-bell exercise ; even 
an expert would scarcely recognise it, so 
much do the muscles fail to give the delicate 
co-ordination required. 

Now, when we come to look at fatigue 
from a scientific point of view, it is clear that 
it is with its objective side that we must deal. 
Even when our sensations are most acute it 
is difficult to describe them in words ; they 
are fugitive and will not stay our question, 
and, most important of all, they offer no 
standard of comparison by which we may 
measure our own with those of our neigh- 
bours. With the objective si4e — the loss of 

Vol. xxix.— 28. 


— A 

tracing from an isolated frog 5 

by LiOOglC 

power in a muscle — it is otherwise, for power 
expresses itself in work> and work can be 
measured. That the pathway to knowledge 
lay in this direction was seen very clearly 
about the middle of " the wonderful century," 
when Helmholtz was beginning his marvellous 
scientific career and was leading the van in 
the introduction of exact methods into 

The means by which a muscle does work 
is by drawing itself together or contracting ; 
it becomes shorter and at the same time 
thicker, as we may easily feel by placing our 
hand on our upper arm and bending our 
elbow as much as possible. This power of 
the muscle, in which consists its life, is not 
altogether dependent on the life of the body 
to which it belongs. A muscle separated 
from the body will continue for some time 
to contract in response to a sharp pinch or 
other stimulus, such as an electric shock. 
If one end of such an isolated muscle 
be fixed, and a pencil be 
attached at right angles to the 
other end, then a piece of paper 
may be so placed that when 
the muscle contracts the pencil 
will draw on the paper a line 
equal in length to the amount 
of contraction. It was in some 
such* way as this that the first 
experiments on muscular 
fatigue were made ; and it 
was found that the lines 
drawn by the pencil became 
shorter and shorter with each shock that was 
administered, in such a way that a straight 
line resulted when the tops of the strokes 
were joined (Fig. i). 'All the shocks are of 
exactly the same strength, and therefore the 
lessening of the contraction must be due to 
muscular fatigue. 

The question now arises — is this fatigue 
due to some loss sustained by the muscle in 
the course of its work, or is it due to some 
harmful substance produced in its tissue ? To 
solve this problem a muscle was fatigued 
to the point of exhaustion, so that it 
no longer gave any response to the 
shock ; it was then thoroughly washed 
by passing through the blood-vessels water 
in which a little common salt had been 
dissolved, and after this treatment it 
found when stimulated 
contraction as before. 
Original from 


typical fatigue 


to respond by 
This experiment 



shows that muscular fatigue is due to some 
injurious or toxic matter produced in the 
working tissue j it shows also that one of the 
duties of the current of blood which passes 
right round Lhe body four times every minute 
is to carry away such toxic products and so 
give fresh life to the muscles* That the pro- 
ducts of fatigue do pass into the blood has 
been shown directly by the following curious 
experiment, A little blood was taken from a 
dog which was tired, and was injected into 
the veins of a fresh, vigorous animal ; the 
result was that the latter at once began to 
show signs of fatigue. 

The fatigue which concerns us most nearly, 
however, is the 
fatigue under- 
gone by a muscle 
in its natural 
slate — in a living 
body and cease 
lessly laved by 
the current of the 
bl ood. 1 1 is 
obviously much 
less easy to deal 
with the muscle 
in this condition ; 
yet the long 
patien c e of 
science has suc- 
ceeded in devis- 
ing an instrument 
which has already 
given us interest- 
ing and valuable 
results, and 
which promises 

in its further developments to lead to many 
more. This instrument we owe to Pro- 
fessor Angelo Mosso, the distinguished 
physiologist of Turin. To it he has given 
the name of trgograpk^ or work ■ recorder, 
and in the twenty years or so since 
this invention was first made public ergo 
graphy has grown to sufficient importance to 
have an article devoted to it in any up to 
date medical or physiological dictionary. 
The work has been done mainly by Con- 
t mental and American scientists, many of 
whom won their scientific spurs in Professor 
Mosso's laboratory. 

The object of the ergograph is to isolate a 
group of muscles and obtain a record of the 
work they arc able to perform. The illustra- 
tion (Fig, 2} will show how this is done. The 
arm is encircled by two bracelets, which can 
be tightened by screws so as to keep it 
motionless. The first and third fingers are 

inserted into two brass tubes so that they 
also are unable to move, and round the 
middle finger, which is left free, is passed a 
cord bearing a weight. This cord, it will be 
seen, passes over a pulley, so that as the finger 
bends forward and backward the weight rises 
and falls. The dark line perpendicular to 
the cord is the stylus which inscribes the 
record. The record is kept by a method of 
great simplicity and beauty, a method which 
is common to many scientific self-registenng 
machines, and which renders possible the 
exactitude at which science now aims. A 
sheet of paper is blackened in the smoke of 
burning camphor or otherwise, and is then 

fixed round a metal cylinder. By means of 
clurkwork this cylinder is then made to 
revolve at a known uniform speed — say> a 
complete revolution every one or two 
minutes, The point of the stylus is then 
placed on the cylinder, and as the cylinder 
moves the point traces a white line on the 
black paper. Now, when the finger bends 
to and fro and moves the cord the stylus is 
pulled backward and forward, and the point 
makes a series of lines upon the paper, the 
length of each line being determined by 
the amount of flexion of the finger. 

It is in this way- that u fatigue tracings/' 
an example of which appears in Fig, 3, are 
obtained. The feelings of the tyro experi- 
menting with the ergograph may be thus 
described. At first the finger moves with 
the greatest ease ; we feel that fatigue is 
hours away. But very soon a difficulty in 
bending the finger to its full extent is experi- 
enced ; perhaps our attention awakes to the 
fact that the recording cylinder is perpetuating 
a record of weakness, and we make a violent 
effort to lengthen the tell-tale strokes- 
Successful for a moment, this flitting increase 
of energy but serves to hasten the final 
"Original from 

r . t \0 h "" uriymdi 1 ruin 




collapse. In spite of every exertion of will 
the strokes become shorter and shorter, until 
at last we see only a faint wriggle, or even a 
straight line, as the finger ceases entirely to 
divert the stylus from its course. The feeling 
of impotence becomes positively painful, and 
sensations of acute discomfort 
are experienced in the forearm. 
These sensations may continue 
for some hours, or even for a 
whole day, after the arm is re- 
leased* Before results of scien- 
tific value can be obtained this 
preliminary stage must be passed 
and the muscle must be trained 
to this particular kind of work. 
Thereafter the first result of 
general interest appears, and that 
is that each individual has his 
own typical fatigue tracing ; his 
record as it appears on the cylinder will remain 
the same day after day for years, other condi- 
tions, of course, being understood to be equaL 
Mr Galton has taught us that the imprint 
of a man's thumb forms an autograph which 
cannot be forged, A fatigue tracing is, per- 
haps* not so exclusive as this, but it is at 
least as characteristic of the individual as 
the colour of his eyes or the shape of 
his ears. 

The tracings shown in Figs* 3 and 4 
are typical, showing two contrasting ways in 
which fatigue, when thus tested, manifests 
itself. In the first the lines decrease in 
length quickly at the beginning, though sub- 
sequently a considerable power of resistance 
to fatigue is seen. In the second the lines 
remain almost the same length till quite 
near the end of the tracing, when they grow 
shorter with surprising swiftness. We all 
know people whom fatigue 
causes to " flop " in the sudden 
way represented in this tracing. 

When the fatigue " auto- 
graph " was once established 
it was natural to proceed to 
inquire what effects different 
disturbing causes would have 
upon it Thus tea, alcohol, 
food y exercise, all have their 
distinct effect upon the tracing ; 
but the inquiry which has so far 
given the most interesting results 
is the investigation into the action upon 
the tracing of intellectual fatigue. Professor 
Mosso obtained tracings from several of his 
colleagues after an occasion of strain — such 
as the delivery of an inaugural lecture of 
importance j or the examination of a number 

Fig. 3.— A tracing from a 

muscle which is becoming 

gradually fatigued. 

Fig* 4. — A contrast with 
the above — a tracing 
from a muscle which col- 
lapses suddenly. 


of candidates orally. The result of one of 
these experiments is given in Fig. 5, and 
shows most plainly the extent to which the 
muscle has been robbed of its force by the pre- 
ceding intellectual or emotional excitement 
This result is one of the greatest im- 
portance for practical life, for it 
shows with convincing force that 
mental labour or excitement ts 
actually a drain on muscular 
energy, and hence that it is 
hopeless to think to find in 
athletic exercises a rest for a 
weary brain. 

It is now the merest common- 
place to say that a science ad- 
vances in so far as it can induce 
the phenomena with which it 
deals to submit to measure- 
ment. It is to our turn- 
ing cylinder with its exact record that 
we owe the possibility of introducing 
measurement into this study of fatigue. By 
measuring the lines on the tracing and adding 
the results together it is easy to find the 
total height to which the weight has been 
raised. Now, work, in the scientific sense of 
the word, is always measured by the raising 
of weights. If you lift a weight of one 
pound one foot from the ground, you are 
said to have performed a unit of work ; if 
you lift one pound two feet, or if you lift 
two pounds one foot, then you have per- 
formed two units of work, If the weight 
used in the ergograph is one pound, and the 
total length of the strokes in the tracing is 
five feet, then the working muscle has per- 
formed five units of work. 

When the finger is writing a tracing, once 
fatigue sets in, the sense of effort grows with 
every stroke, though for this in- 
creasing exertion we have less 
and less to show in the form 
of external work. Our muscle 
has been placed at a median ical 
disadvantage, and thus our 
energy is running to waste. The 
muscle is very far from being 
exhausted in the extreme sense 
of the word. Indeed, complete 
exhaustion, such as may be pro- 
duced by electric stimulation 
when a muscle is removed from 
the body, scarcely ever occurs when the muscle 
is in its natural state. It may occur in a 
hunted animal which has been driven to super- 
natural exertions by the strong stimulus of 
fear. At the end of the chase the stag may 
sometimes be seen to drag along its unre- 
Original from 




sponsive limbs, which have been poisoned by 
the products of their own activity. If a lighter 
weight be substituted for the one in use, then 
the finger bends to its task again with the 
same good will as at first, and the sense of 
effort perceptibly decreases. 

At this point the investigation was taken 
up by Dr, Z, Treves, a disciple of Professor 
Mosso's, and with marvellous patience and 
ingenuity he devoted himself to a long series 
of monotonous experiments, with the object 
of finding out how much work our muscles 
can perform when they are placed in favour- 
able conditions. Dull work it must be stand- 
ing for hours bending and straightening your 
elbow without even the poor satisfaction of 
seeing the tale of white strokes increase on 
the slow- turning cylinder. Nevertheless, this 
is what Dr. Treves and his assistants did, and 
their devotion has been rewarded by some 
very remarkable results. A modified ergograph 
was constructed, in which 
the work was done by the 
muscles of the upper arm. 
The operator began with 
the heaviest weight that he 
could comfortably raise ; 
this was changed by an 
assistant to a lighter one 
as soon as the strokes on 
the cylinder fell below a 
certain height. The object 
being to obtain as much 
w f ork from the muscle as 
possible, it was clearly 
better to have a weight of 
eleven pounds raised 
twelve inches than to have 
a weight of twelve pounds 
raised ten inches ; seeing 
that in the first case eleven 
units of work are performed, in the second 
only ten. The exchange of weights was based 
upon a calculation dependent upon this prin- 
ciple, and results were obtained of which the 
diagram given in Fig. 6 is typicaL 

The experiment was begun with a weight of 
fifteen kilogrammes, for which lighter weights 
were substituted as indicated in the tracing. 
The noticeable point is that after the weight 
has been reduced to nine kilogrammes no 
further reduction takes place in the length of 
the strokes, although the experiment was 
continued for hours. Only part of the 
tracing is given \ the constant phase begin- 
ning at the figure 9 may apparently continue 
indefinitely. At this stage the muscle is 
living from hand to mouth, using up at each 
contraction materials supplied to it by the 


Fit;. 5. — 1. Written on the murtiitig of 
the day the r seminations were held. 
2. Written immed Ukic\ y after the exami- 
nations. The marked decrease in both 
the number and height uf the stroVes 
shows how much the power of the 
rnusdes has been diminished by the in- 
tellect nai strain. Electric stimulation 
was used in both cases, so that brain 
fatigue could not affect the tracing. 

by {j 



blood in its course through its fibres, Its 
work may be likened to that of the heart, 
which is simply a tireless muscle. Most 
good walkers are acquainted with an 
analogous fact — namely, that it is possible 
after a fatiguing tramp to settle to a pace 
which becomes mechanical and involves a 
minimum of effort ; it can be kept up for 
long periods of time, but rest is fatal to it, 
for stiffness of the overworked muscles at 
once sets in. 

This stiffness, of course, appeared in Dr, 
Treves 's arm in acute form after one of his 
long experiments. He found, however, that 
it could be avoided by taking exercise with a 
lighter weight, or even by simply shaking the 
arm about after the experiment was stopped. 
But in this case difficulty of another kind 
was experienced in regulating the movements 
of the arm. Finicky actions, such as fasten- 
ing the studs of a cuff, were impossible ; and 
this although the muscle 
was still perfectly able to 
continue its work of lifting 
the weight. Dr. Treves 
attributes this result to 
fatigue of certain of the 
nervous centres which re- 
gulate muscular reactions. 
The delicacy of co-ordina- 
tion is for the time being 

As I said above, the 
muscle in the phase of 
constant work is simply 
using material as it is sup- 
plied to it \ it is living up 
to its income, in fact, 
without putting by any- 
thing for a rainy day. 
Now, curiously enough, if 
we begin the experiment with a weight lighter 
than the heaviest the muscle can raise, we 
find that it is its income it makes use of and 
not its reserves ; for we find that at any time 
the heaviest weight {if it has not been previ- 
ously lifted in the experiment) can be affixed, 
and the proper amount of work obtainable by 
its means will be registered. This shows that 
the heavy weight acts as a special stimulus, 
enabling the muscle to draw upon stores which 
as an ordinary thing it leaves untouched. 
Apart from its scientific interest, the practical 
value of this arrangement is evident, for it 
means that the muscles have a reserve in 
readiness for any emergency, which will not 
be used until such emergency arises. 

It is thus seen that, when the powers of 
the muscle placed in a condition favourable 

Original from 



to work are examined, the results are very 
remarkable. From such a muscle practically 
an unlimited amount of work can be ob- 
tained, I have in this paper purposely 
refrained from touching on the expenditure 
of nervous energy demanded by the exertion 
of muscular force, because within reasonable 

must remember that much of the world's 
work is done by just such rhythmic move- 
ments as those studied by Dr. Treves. Is it 
not of importance that the laws uf wear and 
tear which regulate the movements of our 
human machines should be sought as care- 
fully and respected as religiously as those 

Fig. 6.— Part of work tracing taken by Dr. Treves. The weights used are fifteen thirteen, eleven, and nine 
kilogrammes* and the: changes are made at ihe points indicated by the numbers in the tracings. It will be seen 
that the lines leap up almost tc their original heights whenever a Lighter weight is substituted for a heavier one. 

limits it would be impossible to do justice to 
more than one aspect of this investigation \ 
but it is obvious that, if the laws of recupera- 
tion of the nervous system differ from those 
of the muscle, there may be room here for a 
leakage of energy productive of permanent 
injury to the organism. Dr. Treves believes 
that such a leakage does take place, and in 
more than one of his recent papers does he 
emphasize this warning, "Our intelligence 
and our will," he says, " urge us on to per- 
form a maximum of work in a minimum of 
time. The practical inexhaustibility of our 
muscles lends its aid, and a state of things is 
established which leads to undoubted over- 
pressure of the parts of the nervous system 
which regulate our energies." This drain is 
all the more to be feared because it takes 
place without our knowledge and without 
any immediate external symptoms to act as 
danger signals, 

Now, in these days of huge factories we 

which govern the motions of our monster 
master-servants of steel and iron? We 
are taking thought for the physical con- 
dition of our people ; we are appointing 
boards of inquiry and publishing blue- 
books ; the ominous words " physical de- 
generacy 3J are heard on every side. Our 
children are overworked at school, we say % 
and we call out for gymnastics to help their 
physical development and to give relief to 
their overtaxed brains. As a matter of fact, 
the present state of our knowledge makes it 
probable that the remedy is simply furthering 
the disease. Nervous strain, owing to con- 
ditions which we have not yet succeeded in- 
separating from civilization, is on the increase 
in children, in women, and in men. There 
is pressing need for a science of fatigue — a 
science which is in a lusty infancy at present 
— and there is still more pressing need for 
the art which will grow out of it : the gentle 
art of rest 

by Google 

Original from 

1dn i /^™^ '^' hl ^ 


p *m«w>%t^ 


A Story^ for Children. 



UT where is the supper?" 
asked Girlie, looking around 
at the tables, upon which 
were plates and dishes, ser- 
viettes and glasses, etc., but 
not a vestige of food of 
any kind. 

** Why, you're going to provide that, you 
know/* said the bird, cheerfully, seating him- 
self at the table and fastening his serviette 
around his neck. 

" / am ? " exclaimed Girlie, in dismay. 
" I'm sure I'm not ; why, I haven't anything 
with me to offer you. Fm very sorry, but I 
really haven't ; not anything at alL" 

The puffin looked at her in amazement 
for a moment and then he laughed feebly. 
"Ha, ha [— capital joke — of course you 
haven't- he, he ! You couldn't be expected 
to carry supper about in your pocket for a 
whole Zoological Gardens full of hungry 
animals, could you ? But you have ordered 
and paid for it, haven^t you?" he added, in 
an insinuating voice. 

M Well, I'm very sorry to say/' said Girlie, 
"that I haven't" You see, her adventures 
since her interview with the sloth had quite 

Digitized by Google 

driven the matter of the supper, which she 
had been asked to order, out of her head. 

" But/' gasped the puffin, flourishing his 
knife and fork about in an excited way, " the 
lion told us you were going to provide 
supper for us. I remember his exact words. 
He said : * Ladies and gentlemen, you will 
quite understand that with the difficulty there 
is in ordering food in this neighbourhood, 
much as I should like to do so, I am unable 
to offer you supper ; but you will be pleased 
to hear that the little human creature who has 
so greatly delighted us with her beautiful and 
improving recitation, " The Pelican and the 
Pie," has, so my secretary informs me, kindly 
undertaken to order for us a sumptuous 
repast, which will he served immediately in 
the maze.' Of course, there was an immediate 
rush for the maze, and I don't suppose that 
there is a single bird or animal in the Gardens 
that is not at this moment on its way here to 
the supper which you have promised." 

As if to prove the truth of his words, two 
bears, an armadillo, and a great auk arrived 
simultaneously and hurried up to the tables. 

They stared very hard at Girlie, and the 
two bears whispered together, evidently about 
her, for one of them nodded his head several 
times in her direction. 

Original from 



The great auk smiled at her very pleasantly, 
and the armadillo remarked in a kind voice 
that it was " a very fine evening." 

"These creatures evidently think that I 
am going to provide them with supper," 
thought poor Girlie, "and I don't know in 
the least what kind of food they would like, 
even if I could give it to them. I'm sure," 
she mused, " I haven't the slightest idea,* for 
instance, what is the proper thing to offer an 
armadillo, and as for a great auk I am certain 
I should not know what to give him. The 
bears, of course, could have buns." You see, 
she knew this because she had often fed the 
big brown bear in the bear-pit. 

Just then some more animals came out of 
the maze and rushed to secure seats, and 
then two or three birds, and the iguana, who 
carried his tail over his arm, and who re- 
marked in a loud voice to the puffin, with 
whom he seemed to be friendly, as soon as 
he came into the courtyard : — 

" She owes the toucan ninepence, he told 
me so," and stared at Girlie as though she 
were some monstrosity. 

Other creatures now began to arrive in great 
numbers : the elephant family ; the adjutant, 
who made a ridiculous grimace as he tried 
to adjust his eye-glass; and the ant-eater. 
" That's ' Thamuel,' " thought Girlie ; " and 
I suppose that is ' Thuthan ' with him." For 
there was a ladylike-looking ant-eater, with a 
white, bushy tail, hanging to his arm and 
looking up at him very affectionately. Then 
the porcupine came fussing in, making a 
great noise with his quills ; and the camel ; 
and then quite a crowd of "odds and ends " 
of animals, as Girlie described them. 

Presently the lion and the lioness them- 
selves arrived, accompanied by the tigers, 
the leopards, and the panthers. Shortly 
afterwards the giraffe strolled out of the 
maze, accompanied by the koodoo, and as 
he took his seat complained that he was sure 
to have a stiff neck or a sore throat taking 
supper out of doors. " And a stiff neck 
with me," he remarked, dolefully, " is no 
laughing matter." 

After a few more creatures had taken their 
seats and the tables were beginning to get 
uncomfortably crowded, the secretary - bird 
and the toucan came bustling in arm in arm. 

" There she is ! " cried the secretary-bird, 
spying out Girlie at once and hurrying up to 
her. " Where's the mullingong ? " he de- 

" I'm very sorry " began Girlie. 

" Don't say you haven't been able to find 
him," interrupted the secretary-bird. 

by Google 

"Oh, no; I did find him," said Girlie, 
" but I've unfortunately lost him again," and 
she told the secretary-bird all about it. 

" Dear me, very careless," he muttered, 
" very careless indeed." 

" Such a stupid thing to lose a mullin- 
gong ! " said the toucan. " If it had been a 
collar- stud now, or an ear-ring, or anything 
of that sort, we might have believed you — 
but a mullingong ! Look at me ; / don't go 
about losing mullingongs — I've never lost a 
mullingong in my life," and he held his head 
on one side and made a most ridiculous 
attempt at looking virtuous. 

" Well, /don't make a practice of it," said 
Girlie, rather irritably, for she was beginning 
to get very tired of this continual fault- 
finding. " You talk as though I had lost 
a dozen instead of only one, and he was a 
stupid little thing at that." 

" That's quite enough," said the secretary- 
bird. " I see you don't realize how serious a 
thing it is to lose a mullingong; but, how- 
ever, that must stand over for the present. 
What about the supper ? " 

"Well, you see," explained Girlie, begin- 
ning to feel quite alarmed as she glanced 
around at the hungry-looking crowd of 
animals seated at the tables, " you didn't tell 
me what to order nor where to order it, so I 
don't quite see how you could expect me 
to " 

The secretary-bird glared wildly at the 
toucan and then cried, " She hasn't ordered 
it ! " in a horrified voice. " Do you know 
what this means ? " he demanded, speaking 
in a very hoarse, hurried whisper. 

" What is the matter ? " asked the lion, 
coming up at this moment. " What does all 
this delay mean? We are all waiting for 

" I scarcely like to tell you," began the 
secretary-bird ; " but she — she hasn't even 
ordered any." 

" What ! " shouted the lion, with a growl. 

" What ! " snarled the hyena, who had 
followed behind. 

" What ! " cried the tiger, showing his 
teeth. " Not ordered the supper after all ? " 

Most of the animals rose from the table 
and glared at Girlie. " What ! " they all 
cried, " no supper ! " 

Terribly alarmed at the turn affairs had 
taken, Girlie exclaimed in a voice that was 
a little shaky, in spite of herself : — 

" Well, I'm sure I wish I could supply 
you with a suitable supper," she began, 
"but " 

Before the words were scarcely out of her 

k_r \ I II I I I i.l I I I ifj I I 




V \ I* \ 


mouth the tables were suddenly covered 
with all sorts of delicious dishes, and, 
singular to say, in front of each animal was 
a plate containing just the kind of food he 
was most partial to. 

In an instant Girlie realized what had 

She had used the second of the wishes which 
the pixies had promised her. 



"That was a very clever way of getting 
supper, I must say. How did you manage 
it?" asked the secretary-bird, when every- 
body had settled down to the tables and 
Girlie had found a vacant place between 
him and the toucan. 

There was a plate of strawberries and 
cream, and two or three wafers, in front of 



her, so Girlie began to eat 
them, arguing to herself 
that since she had pro- 
vided the feast she might 
as well enjoy some of it 

" How did you manage 
it ? " repeated the secre- 

i( Why, the pixies, you 
know," said Girlie, "pro- 
mised that I should have 
three wishes granted, and 
• this was the second ol 
them. I must say," she 
added, regretfully, "I 
must say I would rather 
not have wasted it in this 

way, though I JJ 

" Wasted, indeed ! " ex- 
claimed the secretary-bird, 
perking at his dish. "You 
evidently do not recognise 
what a serious matter it 
would have been for you 
if the supper had not 
arrived just when it did*" 

"Yes, it was a narrow 
squeak, wasn't it ? " laughed 
the hyena, who sat opposite 
him, leaning across and 
grinning as well as he 
could, considering that his 
mouth was full of pigeon- 

" How wide is a narrow 
squeak?" asked the toucan, 
giving Girlie a nudge. " I'm 
always inventing conun- 
drums like that ; there are such a lot of 
things want answering in the world. For 
instance, here's another * Where does the 
fire go to when it goes out ? J and 4 How 
sharp is a pointed remark ? ' I could go on 
like that for hours and hours," he declared, 
"and you'd never be able to guess the 

" By-the-bye," said the secretary-bird, 
hurriedly drawing the programme out of his 
pocket, " I should think it's about time for 
your song now, isn't it ? " 

" Oh, I can't sing," protested the toucan ; 
" I've got a cold. Ask the kangaroo, there's 
a good fellow." 

" Or she might do something," suggested 
the secretary- bird, pointing at Girlie. 

" Oh, no ; we shall have quite enough 
of her with the bagpipes and the 
musical glasses," said the toucan, some- 
Original from 





what rudely. "Ask the kangaroo to give 
us a song." 

The secretary-bird rapped the table, and 
presently the kangaroo stood up, and every- 
body shouted out : — 

w Hush ! M and " Silence ! w And then, 
when all was quiet, the kangaroo began : — 

I met an errand-boy one day. 

His hair was fiery red, 
And when I asked him how he did s 

11 What's that to you ? " he said. 

Now I am good, and kind, and mild, 

And very, very meek ; 
And so I smiled and patted hiiu t 

And yet he cried, (S What cheek ! " 

"Nay t don't behave like that ! " I cried. 

t4l Twere better surely far 
To treat your elders with respect*" 

He only answered, ** Yah ! * 

"Come, come, my Little man ! " I cried, 

li If I'm polite to you, 
You, too, should be polite to me." 

He turned and shouted, * s Boo I " 

VoL ««.— 29. 


nal from 



Now " Boo ! " and " Yah ! " are words I hate 

To hear a youngster use ; 
And so I shook that boy until 

He trembled in his shoes. 

I picked him up, I threw him down, 

I pushed him here and there, 
I boxed his ears, I pinched his arms, 

I dragged him by the hair. » 

Then, though, as I remarked before, 

I'm very, very meek, 
I kicked that wretched youth into 

The middle of next week. 

To Girlie's surprise everybody took out 
their pocket-handkerchiefs and began to 

" What are they doing that for ? " she 
asked of the toucan. 

" I don't know," he said, sniffing loudly 
and wiping his eyes. " It's supposed to be 
a pathetic song, and we are doing it out of 
compliment to the kangaroo. 

"I see," said Girlie. "Well, I think it 
was rather severe of the kangaroo to treat 
the boy like that, though he certainly did 
behave very rudely, didn't he ? " 

" Boys," remarked the toucan, severely, 
"are always rude, so that isn't the reason 
why the story was pathetic." 

" Why was it, please ? " asked Girlie. 

" It was principally because his hair was 
fiery red," declared the toucan. "If it had 
been any other colour it wouldn't have 
happened, you see." 

"Why ever not ? " asked Girlie, who 
couldn't see what the colour of the boy's hair 
had to do with the matter. 

" Why, you see, it wouldn't have rhymed, 
you know. For instance, if it had been 
black it would have gone like this : — 

I met an errand-boy one day, 

His hair was long and black ; 
And when I asked nim how he did 

He bowed politely back. 

Or if it had been brown, you know, it would 
have occurred somehow like this : — 
I met an errand-boy one day, 

His hair was chest nut -brown, 
And when I asked him how he did 
He turned and knocked me down ; 

which would have given quite a different 
ending to the story. It's wonderful what a 
lot depends upon the colour of your hair." 

Before Girlie could answer a commotion 
at the other end of the table caused them all 
to look around, and they could see that the 
giraffe had got up from the table and was 
anxiously looking over the hedge around the 

Presently he drew his head back and 
announced, in a terrified voice : — 

" Jiere comes one of the keepers / " 



" The keeper ! the keeper ! " shouted the 
animals, and immediately the utmost con- 
fusion prevailed. The creatures jumped up 
from the tables, upsetting plates, dishes, pies, 
tarts, fruit, cake, and all the other good 
things with which they had been loaded. 

Then they all rushed to the farther end of 
the courtyard and watched the entrance to 
the maze with the greatest of anxiety. 

Presently a man in the uniform worn by 
the keepers at the Zoo made his appearance, 
carrying a lantern, and yawning, and rub- 
bing his eyes as though he were scarcely 

" Halloa ! " he exclaimed, starting back in 
alarm when he saw the crowd of animals. 
" What be these?" 

The lion gave a low growl and the man 
drew farther back. 

" Sure an' I must be dreaming," muttered 
the man, rubbing his eyes. "They can't all 
have got loose." 

" Why not ?" demanded the lion. 

" Because — because," stammered the man, 
looking perfectly bewildered at hearing the 
lion speak, " because it's onnatural ; and for 
yez to be speakin', too ; sure I can't under- 
stand it at all, at all." 

" Well, one thing is certain," said the lion, 
" we're not going back to our cages till we're 
ready. Are we?" he asked, appealing to 
the others. 

A chorus of angry yells and growls 
answered him. 

"Ach — no — sor! By no means. Certainly 
not ! " cried the man, trembling in every 
limb. " I wouldn't be afther askin' yer 
honours to be doin' such a thing. It's only 
a bit of a creathur called a mullingong that 
I'm afther. He got out of me basket just 
now, and I shall get into throuble sure if I 
don't take him back." 

" The mullingong ! " cried the toucan, 
thrusting himself forward and pointing at 
Girlie. " Why, she took him out of your 
basket while you were asleep, and lost 

" Yes, I did," admitted Girlie. 

" Very well, then," said the bird, turning to 
the keeper. " You'd better take her and lock 
her up in his place." 

" Yes, yes ! Lock her up ! Lock her 
up ! " shouted all the animals. 

" In a cage," said the toucan, spitefully ; 
"then we can go and poke at her with 
umbrellas and walking-sticks, and make rude 
remarks aboi;t her personal appearance, like 




the human creatures do ahout us every day 
of our lives," 

" But " protested the keeper, 

iC Lock her up ! " growled the lion, in a 
ferocious voice. 

The keeper gave one terrified glance and 
then caught Girlie's hand and dragged her 
after him. 

14 Come on, quick I quick ! " he shouted, 
running as quickly as he could ; so fast. 

indeed, that Girlie had the greatest difficulty 
in keeping up with him. 

Through the lanes they dashed, first 
along one and then another, till presently 
Girlie became so tired and breathless that 
she felt she really could not go any farther, 
so she threw herself down on a bank of 

u Ach ! sure, ?t said the keeper, listening 
intently, " I think they're nfther us again — I 


Original from 



can hear them com in; sure. To think that 
I should live to be frightened to death in 
this way," He had scarcely finished speaking 
when first one and then another of the animals 
appeared round the comer > till the little lane 
was completely filled with them. They all 
looked very angry, and Girlie began to get 
very frightened indeed. 

"Oh, dear I* she murmured, "I wish— I 
really do — that I had never come to this 

in her own little bedroom at home, while the 
early morning sun was shining in at the 

*'0-oh !" she murmured, half regretfully. 
"Then it's all been a dream. Or," she 
thought, "perhaps it really has happened, 
and the three wishes have been fulfilled, 

" Let's see. What was the last ?. Oh, yes ; 
I wished that I never had gone to the garden- 
party at all. So I suppose, if it was granted, 


horrid garden-party, Everything seems to go 
wrong, somehow," 

The words were scarcely uttered when a 
most singular thing happened. 

The ferocious faces around her seemed 
gradually to relax into smiles, and one by one 
the animals seemed to vanish slowly away. 

The lion and the lioness, the toucan and the 
secretary-bird, " Thuthan " and " Thamuel," 
the adjutant and the porcupine, faded into 

The trees rose into the air and floated 
away, and everything about her seemed to 
change, till presently she found that she was 

that I never did go there. Dear me, it's all 
very puzzling," she said, with half a sigh, as 
she got up and began to dress. 

Girlie often went to the Zoo after this, and 
really did make the acquaintance of the 
mullingong, and she never saw the lions and 
tigers and other dangerous animals without 
thinking of her adventures; and she always 
felt thankful to see the bars between her and 
them, remembering that hut for the pixies* 
three wishes there is no knowing what might 
have become of her at the strange garden- 
party at which she had been a guest. 

The End. 

by Google 

Original from 


Forms in Falling IVater. 

Bv John Swaffham. 
Ilimtr&ted with Photographs taken at the Ijrwcr Rzkhttthaeh by C. R* B&Hanct, 

HE River Reichenbaeh issues 
from the Rosenlaui Glacier 
behind the VVetterhorn, and, 
running down the valley which 
bears its name, forms opposite 
to the village of Meiringen a 
magnificent first or " Upper Fall " by plunging 
over a diff two hundred feet deep. After this 
initial leap the stream passes through a steep, 
rocky gorge, the walls of which are in places 
fifty feet high. The course of the Reichen- 
bach through this gorge is extremely troubled, 
for it is really nothing else than a series of 
falls and rapids, one dozen or more in 
number* At the foot of this chain the water 
gathers in an immense pool worn out of the 
solid rock hy untold ages of friction, whence 
it emerges in a final leap known as the w Lower 
Fall" This cascade is from forty to fifty feet 
high, but the breadth of the ledge over which 
the river plunges, the ragged ness of its bed 
and sides, no less than the volume of water, 
makes it one of the finest spectacles of the 
kind in all the Alps. History even relates 
that it was by a supposed accident at this spot 
that Sherlock Holmes for long passed beyond 
the ken of friend and foe alike, and a glance 
at the first illustration will give an idea of 
the unpleasant sensations which must have 
accompanied his fall into the abyss. 

The photographs of the Lower Reichen- 
bach reproduced in these pages were taken 

with focal -plane exposures of one one- 
thousandth and one two- thousandth parts of 
one second. They are of high scientific 
interest as the nearest representation which 
can be compassed by human agency of the 
* actual forms assumed at a given moment of 
time by water falling through space. At the 
date on which they were taken the volume of 
water was by no means so large as usuaJ, a 
chance which enabled the camera to per- 
petuate {illustration No* 2) at least one 
register that is almost unique. 

Picture-makers have long been accustomed 
to represent flowing water by a series of 
parallel straight lines. When the simulated 
water was supposed to be falling, the lines 
were parabolic (curved), to represent the 
well-known arched form assumed by a mass 
of water when precipitated over a high place 
at speed. Unfortunately, the forms of water 
in motion are about as complex as such 
representations would lead us to assume that 
they are simple. They are so complex that 
it is very difficult to describe the hydraulic 
laws, which they invariably obey, in simple 

Let us suppose that we stand by the 
side of one of the shallow rectangular 
wooden troughs in which water is frequently 
"led" to a mill-wheel. The sides and 
bottom of the trough are perfectly level, but 
the £44 me cau seldom b^ said of the surface. 



A very slight examination shows us that 
the surface seems to wear an appearance as 
if of many lines pointing down the current. 
These lines are, moreover, distinctly "wavy " 
— they convey an impression to our eyes 
such as that received from a scrutiny of a 
large flag undulating in a gentle breeze. 
Let us now slip into the trough a board, 
broad enough to completely bar the passage 
from side to side s but, in depth, less than the 
height of the water, A sxvell at once appears 
a little behind the gxact spot beneath which 
we know that the" hidden obstruction lies, 
and this swell perpetuates its form upstream 
from the dam, each swell in the series being 


a trifle smaller than that lying nearer to the 
dam. The upstream or back curve of each 
swell further exhibits a series of latitudinal 
strite or ridges. The swells remain stationary 
in relation to the sides of their channel, and 
are called eddy- waves or ripples. 

It might be supposed that, if a stream were 
dammed in such a way that the stream pre- 
sently encountered the obstruction only by 
passing through a lake or pool formed behind 
it, the shock causing the ripples of which we 
have spoken would be, so to speak, diluted ; 
that the running water would gradually merge 
its energy in the stillness of the pool. The 
shock and its effects are not, however, 
diminished one whit, but are transferred 
bodily and complete to the point at which 
the running stream first meets the "head" 
of still water. 

If we now obstruct the flow of the water in 

the same trough by a stake or other object 
that only impedes one part of its course, the 
complete latitudinal swell is changed for one 
that assumes the form of a parabola, the 
diverging edges of which will open more or 
less rapidly, according to the velocity of the 
stream. As soon as these divergent ripples 
strike the banks they turn inwards, until 
their curves meet and once more repeat 
the outward figure. Two such obstruc- 
tions placed in a latitudinal line cause a 
double series of parabolic oval figures. The 
result in either case is to cover the surface 
of the stream with a series of lozenge- 
shaped ripple lines which are the typical 
phenomenon observable in 
all running water, and may 
be seen in the second 
photograph reproduced in 
this article. In fact, every 
irregularity on the banks 
or bed of running water 
produces a series of con- 
torted lines — a lozenge- 
shaped pattern which, like 
the waves of the sea, does 
not register a motion of the 
water, but is an indication 
of the direction in which the 
motion of the water is pro- 
ceeding. The series cross 
and recross, each separate 
figure is more elongated 
than its precursor, and each 
point of contact between 
two figures, or a figure and 
an obstruction, excuses the 
birth of a new series. 

We have said that artists 
have been content to simulate the appearance 
of falling water by drawing a series of parallel 
curved lines, as though these lines represented 
the courses followed by so many parts of the 
falling mass* But if there is any such serial 
regularity in the component parts of a waterfall 
it occurs horizontally and not perpendicularly 
{No. 2). A hotly of water, for example, 
pitches over the summit of a fall in a more 
or less continuous sheet. Half-way down 
the descent it appears as a mass of troubled 
undulations (Nos. 5 and 6). At the foot it 
is a broken agglomeration of detached masses 
and drops (No. 3). 

A stream of running w T ater, viewed in a 
favourable light, seems to have a series of 
longitudinal undulations wavering along the 
surface. Looking at a jet of falling water, 
we always note apparent pulsations in the 

*ft^MM' fact - for 





we only need to glance at the " edge " of a 
fall, or the point at which water is issuing from 
a hose, in order to see that the flow is not 
continuous but periodic — that it proceeds hy 
a series of spurts (No. 7). The first photo- 
graph showing a general view of the Lower 
Reiehenbach fall also demonstrates this 
clearly. There are no straight edges to the 
masses of water, but the outline of each mass 
is undulated. A less complicated example of 
the phenomenon may be studied by watch- 
ing the wavy line assumed by a column of 
smoke issuing from the open mouth of a 
smoker when he simply lets the vapour 
escape — i.e., he "holds his breath" — in a 
room without draughts, 
for smoke follows a like 
law in this regard. 

Water and the air are 
alike in this, that every 
motion of each is by 
way of series upon series 
of undulations (waves). 
But water is less elastic 
than air, and it is also 
visible. It registers, 
upon its surface, all the 
varying pressures to 
which it is subjected as 
it flows along* But 
while every ripple tells 
that the mass of which 
it is a part has been 
affected by some varia- 
tion in pressure— by an 
obstruction at the side 

or on the bed of the 
course, by enlarge- 
ments or contractions 
of channel, variation 
in the degree of fall 
— the vibrations con- 
sequent on all these 
causes communicate 
themselves to those 
causes* thus produc- 
ing yet more "vibra- 
tions," not forgetting 
that the contact of 
each ripple with its 
neighbours deter- 
mines the birth of yet 
another series of rip- 
ples. Finally, because 
the progression of 
water is periodic and 
not continuous, jet 
varies from jet, and 
the variation produces 
new serial tremors to swell the almost in- 
credible accumulation of their accumulations. 
Such a thing as two parallel lines of motion 
down the length of a fall is beyond imagina- 
tion. The second illustration accompanying 
this article gives a truly wonderful demon- 
stration of the truth of this. Note particularly 
several almost perfect "parabolic lozenges" 
towards the right of a central line and near 
the foot of the picture. 

The entire mass of a flowing stream does 
not move at the same speed. Partly because 
friction at the sides and along the bottom 
is more appreciable, partly because what is 
called capillary tension 'within the mass 




causes the jet to tend to assume a cylindrical 
form, the water enters upon a "fall" in a 
series of V-shaped tongues, with their angles 
in advance* 

But while the central portion of each mass 
tends to move faster than its outer edges, 
these edges tend, for certain reasons, to 
assume a form best describable as a series of 
knotted cords. This kind of undulation is 
no other than our old friends the ripples 
which form above a stationary darn in the 
course of a stream ; and as the back of each 
swell in the placid stream carried a series of 

ing for an indefinite time until friction 
between the air through which the object 
moves j and at the point of suspension, finally 
brings it to rest at its point of natural equili- 
brium. The jet of water over a fall 
possesses a similar point of equilibrium, and 
it arrives at this point at the precise instant 
of assuming the cylindrical form to which, by 
its very nature, the jet is perpetually endea- 
vouring to return. But to reach this point 
of equilibrium the jet went through a series of 
oscillations, longitudinal and lateral, within 
its mass. It cannot therefore rest at its 

p o i nf of e q u i - 
librium, but oscil- 
lates beyond it. 

Thus the V-shaped 
tongue, which con- 
tracts until at its 
tip its section is 
approximately cir- 
cular, immediately 
expands again into 
a stream the 
breadth of which is 
at right angles to 
the breadth of the 
stream above its 
point of issue on 
the fall. But this 
in its turn contracts 
(in ils attempt to 
assume the cylin- 
drical form), only to 
expand again later- 


latitudinal stria, so now these striae cross over 
and cover the tongue of each jet with a 
system of the familiar lozenges. 

But when the tongue of water jetted over 
the lip of the fall, the lateral molecules were 
deflected towards the centres owing to a com- 
plicated arrangement of what is called their 
horizontal centripetal (centre-seeking) velo- 
city, while the central molecules in the tongue 
were urged outwards by a similar centrifugal 
(cent re -flying) force. 

The point of equilibrium for any object 
suspended by a single cord from a fixed point 
is to be found in the position at which the 
object will hang motionless — at which it will 
11 come to rest " of itself after exhausting any 
impulse that may have caused it to oscillate 
as it hung* If you move the suspended object 
an inch to the right of that point, and release 
it, it will swing across the point of equilibrium 
until it reaches a point one inch beyond it 
Then it swings back, and so continues swing- is 

ally once more. 

This process is 
repeated so that there results a chain of discs 
or lozenges, the sections of which may be 
represented by a dumb-bell lying fiat on the 
ground and placed alternately at right angles 
to and parallel to the edge of the trough. Disc 
thus producing disc in endless succession, the 
jet assumes the form of a knotted rope, the 
plain section of which would appear like a 
cross with round instead of square ends. Add 
to this that the series of discs are being elon- 
gated momentarily as the speed of the mass 
accelerates ; that successive discs form with- 
out regard to their precursors — ;>., one swells 
out before the other has contracted ; that new 
discs leap into their serial existence whenever 
the thickened edges of two others clash ; 
finally, that the " rope ,J is whirling corkscrew- 
wise ; and some vague idea of the all but 
indescribable complexity of serial undulations 
in each of the myriad " ropes JJ forming the 
" mass " of a faM rn.iy be conceived, There 

no pla^^^^ll^^^ai^t line, 





even for a true parabolic line, There is endless 
disorder of order {No. 5), and the whole series 
of series are throbbing with horizontal as well 
as vertical oscillations. Finally, every point 
upon the edge or bed of the fall is also 
pulsing with a chaos of mingled vibrations, 
which further disturb the waters at every 
point of contact In the tamest fall in the 
world not one single drop of water reaches 
the bottom by the direct road. 

Let us attempt to list a few of the forces 
at work, each determining scries on series of 
vibrations, every one of 
which is interfering 
with its neighbours' 
regular operations. The 
water arrived at the 
lip of the fall with a 
certain speed, and this 
speed is accelerated 
with every inch of pro- 
gress. Each " tongue- 
jet" is already oscil- 
lating as it "lips J1 the 
fall. Instantly the 
laws of its own weight, 
inertia, cohesion ; 
c en t ri f ugal, cen t ri petal) 
and helicoidal tenden- 
cies, also the same 
tendencies in all its 
neighbours, seize upon 
each separate molecule 

cate their throes to the 
channel in which the 
water moves, and the 
channel again com- 
municates their gift to 
those molecules of the 
givers which touch it. 
Friction— between 
molecule and molecule 
within the mass of 
water ; between each 
molecule of water and 
the banks and rocks 
and bed of the 
stream ; between the 
water and the air 
through which it is 
rushing — steps in. At 
the foot of the fall 
there is the rebound 
both of water and of 
displaced atmosphere. 
Wherever the water 
touches its containing channel it suffers from 
a despairing desire to adhere to it It crawls 
around corners, trickles along edges, or spurts 
off at any erratic angle instead of falling 
"straight" And yet> despite this chaos, so 
omnipotent are the eternal rules under 
which the water moves, that in the heart of 
the most tumultuous swirl the camera never 
fails to register some adherence, some 
obedience to the typical u parabolic 
lozenge " formation which is the first " form 
of falling water. !i 

in the flow, 

All these 


7---A NLtl'HE L.T THK J-'AI.L 

>t£Kti PROM BKLOtt, SHtlttS 

Vol wcix.— 30* 

by W 


■ ^fTLTn I CI I 1 1 \jl 








THOMAS ll.\hL'V. 


M.lkS Ll-KkV, 



Most people are probably aware 
of the strange and quaint designs 
lo be obtained by writing a word 
upon a piece of paper and then 
folding the sheet along the middle 
of the letters while the ink is 
still \vl l. Km few, we think, will 
be preimred to find that suitable 
words so treated will give such curious 
results as those shown on this page. Espe- 

cially striking are those produced 
by the names of well-known per- 
sons, shown in the second row, 
of which Mr. Thomas Hardy s 
may he held to take the prize. 
Doubtless many of our readers, 
fc ' with such results l>efore them, will 

be glad to renew their acquaint- 
ance with an old pastime and to try to rival 
the specimens here ^ven,'' 1 

is here given, 

verw of Michigan 


Cop>Tijjht T i9°5 ? ky George Newnes, Limited, 
[ We shall he %!ad to reserve Contribution* fa this serthtii attd to pay for stick as are accepted] 

year at ihc top of the * KonigsstuhV a mountain 
of about one thousand seven hundred feet, not far 
from Heidelberg. The local innkeeper constructs 
it out of ice-hlocks made by means of metal 
frames, The building is al>out seven yards high and 
of the same width t and on the front reliefs of the 
Emperor and the Grand Duke of Baden arc to 
lie seem When ilium mated at night this strange 
palace attracts a crowd of spectators/' — Mr. Alfred 
Befgen thai, 34* Sardinia Terrace, Glasgow, 

"This stone vase stands in a garden at Stow- 
market, Suffolk. It is quite unique. One day a 
tramp called at the yard of the local stonemason and 
askeo for work- the stonemason gave him a block 
of stone* and he rapidly produced the vase shown 
in the photograph. After being paid for his work he 
disappeared. The middle section has on the tree trunk 
a monkey, a tortoise, a frog, lizards, etc/'— Nigeria. 

"At the first glance this monument seems to he 
Imill of marble. This is not the case, however for it 
is entirely and solely made of ice. It is built every 

"The above photo, shows a 
long- nailed Chinaman, His long 
finger ■ nails, which the average 
while man looks upon only 
as an object of curiosity, are 
regarded in the Flowery Kingdom 
as a sign of nobility. To obtain 
nails of this length is no easy 
matter, as the nails are trimmed 
and trained for this purpose from 
the very cradle, and the possessor 
must have a servant to attend to 
his every want. The ends of the 
delicate nails arc protected by 
stiver or gold shields set with 
precious stones, to match the ear- 
rings and jewelled fan. The 
Chinese beau is as proud of his 
long finger-nails as the Chinese 
belle is of her small feet. Photo, by 
^.-C. Pierce and Co." —Miss 
Viola White, Aurora, Nebraska. 




^ SUC HARD 5 h£ 

Coto*.^ Chocolate* 


San Diego Bay for a distance of six miles ; and 
then, after*unloading, the house was taken to 
lis final resting-place, another mile by land, 
or a total distance of nine miles. The whole 
time consumed in the moving was ih'o days of 
ten hours each* Not one piece of plaster was 
displaced from start to finish. The photos- were 
taken by Mr, !h K, Fitch, San Diego.' -Mr. 
G. O. Jenner, San Diego, Cal., U.S. A, 

" If any evidence were lacking of the 
urgent necessity for amending I he existing 
system of education, I think the enclosed v 
photo, would supply it. Perhaps some of 
your readers could suggest a s} p stem of even- 
ing continuation classes suitable for hill- 
posters and other l literary * people," — Mr. 
P. R, Jackson, 1, Dunolly Gardens, Ibrox, 
Glasgow* — — 


*' The two pictures reproduced are of a I en -roomed 
house which originally stood in Chill a Vista, San Diego 
County, California, The owner desired it moved 

"On the 8th September, 1904, the Royal 
Engineers (Europeans), stationed at Sierra 
Leone, West Coast of Africa, held a practice 
shoot on the new rifle range , Grassfields, at* nit 
a mile out of Freetown, recently constructed 
by them. On firing my third shot I noticed 
only a email puff and no recoil. Having 
ejected the cartridge-case, 1 noticed the bullet 
jammed in the barrel about three inches down 
from the breech, and put it down to a defective 
cartridge, Having no means, on the range, of 
clearing the barrel I finished off my remaining 
rounds with a comrade's rifle* On arriving at 
the barracks I proceeded to the Sierra Leone 
Fortress Company Ro} r al Engineers* (Natives) 

office and obtained a cleaning- rod, and, on the bullet 
being forced out, to our ^reat astonishment a blade 
of a knife was found fixed to it. The round was taken 

from an ordinary packet 
of ten, dated i^oK, and 
bound up in the usual 
way, and the packet in 
its turn was one of ten 
taken indiscriminately 
from the company f s 
stores, I send you the 
actual bullet, with blade 
attached, which w r as 
rather bigger than the 
bore, and shows the re- 
sistance offered to its 
ejectment.'' — Quarter- 
master-Sergeant W. J. 
Gibson , Royal Engi- 
neers, Sierra Leone* 

to San Diego City ; but 
the labour of hauling 
by land was too great, 
and it was therefore 
decided to send it by 
way of the San Diego 
Bay, on whose shores 
both towns are built. 
The first stage, shown in 
the above photo., was 
by land — two miles — to 
a wharf, where it was 
transferred to an im- 
mense coal-barge* Trip 
number two, shown 
herewith, was up the 






Readers of the 
story entitled 
''The Tornado 
Trap "in the pre* 
sent number will 
be interested in 
this photograph of 
an actual *' trap 1 ' 
or cellar, though 
it differs somewhat 
in details from ihe 
one there des- 
cribed, The sender 
says. : " The photo. 
I send you is that 
of a cyclone cellar, 
or storm cellar as 
they are usually 
called out here* A 
flight of steps 
leads down to a 
large slone cellar, almost the whole 
of which is underground, and on the 
approach of a big storm or cyclone, 
which can usually be seen several 
minutes txsforehand, everyone rushes 
to the cellar and securely fastens the 
two doors at the entrance, as during 
the storms, which are prevalent in 
that part of the country, bouses are 
blown down j roofs taken entirely off 
and carried several hundred yards, 
and the air is full of large stones, 
wood, and branches of trees." — Miss 
E. M. St ear, Kiara Hotel, 615, Taylor 
Street, San Francisco, Cal. 

that the town can 
boast of." — Mr. 
Eustace Qui Iter, 
Bawdsey Manor, 
Wood bridge, 

41 After a smash in Luxor, Egypt, 
1900 ! The inevitable camel is called 
into requisition to bear away the re- 
mains of one of the very few vehicles 


"My photo- 
graph represents a 
signboard over a 
Japanese barbers 
shop in Fusan, 
Korea, and is a 
typical example of 
I nglish as she is 
'Japped.' The 
explanation of ihe 
last two lines of 
the announcement 
is that, as with 
other nations, the 

di fie rent arts and crafts form themselves into guilds. 55 
—Mr. D. O. Witt, Champion I Jill, S + E. 


"At the powder works here, NanaJma, B,C, an 
explosion of ( gelignite * occurred which killed 
twelve men. This large iron rail was lying on ihe 
ground about twelve feel from ihe tree and about 
twenty-five feet from the explosive, the force of which 
lifted the rail from the ground and wrapped it 
around the tree trunk as shown in the photograph,' 1 
— Mr. K, IL G hough, Nana! mo, B.C. 



(i My photo* represents a portion of a log, which 
upon being sawn up at Leeds a short lime ago was 
found lo contain a si one nearly the size of a brick. 
When ihc saw refused to make any further progress 
through the log the latter was split, and found em- 
bedded in the heart was the stone as shown in the photo- 
graph, which I Look immediately afterwards. I might 
mention that the Lree was alder and of about fifty-eight 
to sixty inches ^irlh at the part where the stone was, 
fifo extraordinary mark is visible from the outside. ' 1 - 
VI r. Arthur A. Storey, 99, Mark ham Avenue, Leeds. 


lunning through the head," 
- - Mr. Norman L. Cappel, 
27, Trinity Street, Cam- 


"This is a photograph 
which I obtained whilst Look- 
ing round one of the large 
docks at Liverpool ; it shows 
a unique method of fishing. 
The angler has attached his 
line to the lop of a stiff rod 
about a yard high and stuck 
firmly into the ground, while 
at the top is fixed a small 
hell, widen rings when the 
fish takes a bite, thus 



" I send you 
a photo, of the 
Ele phan tines- 
bach (Elephant s 
Brook), Zurich, 
It i* not a jungle 
scene, but merely 
the front pari of 
an elephant 
made of cement, 
wiih «i portion 
of the slrc:tm 

attracting the fisherman's notice/* — Mr. C. W. 
Checlham, Kirk-Mall Avenue, Kirkstall, near Leeds. 

U A reminder of the days when cannon were fired 
with such ammunition as spikes nml nails is furnished 
by the accompanying photograph, which is a 
portion of Lhe thighdione of a soldier. It was 
uug up on Manhattan Esland with the huge spike 
attached as shown in the picture. Evidently lhe 
spike was fully as long as U e original bone, and 

it had passed 
nearl y half- 
w a y t h rotlg h 
the bone fiefore 
its progress was 
stopped. These 
spikes were 
nseil in cannon 
during the last 
century, \nd 
some oT tnein 
v. 1. 1 ..■ nvcr a 
foot in length," 
-Mr. I>. Allen 
Willey, Haiti- 




IRA ^H ^■^^HB^Il 

■ &-' 

4 1 

If , 


■ ■!■■■■!■ -~ 


when young h^ct the misfor- 
tune to put jt.s foot through 
the vertebra of some larger 
animal, with the result that, 
as the buck grew, the vertebra 
hecanie a fixture, The huck 
was she it by Mr. G. Parkin 
in the Uitenhage di.strict t 
and, judging from its age! 

11 Daniel Drawfoaugb, the inventor, living at 
Ehcrly's Mill, about twenty mil.. -^ horn I larrishurg, 
Pa., still has among his models an original telephone 
which he constructed years ago. Drawhaugh was one 
of the claimants of the invention of the telephone, 
and appeared in the cases at court against Graham 
Bell- The decision, however, was declared in favour 
of BelL The original is very crudely constructed, 
the transmitter being made of a tin can and portion 
of a pipe, the membrane being taken from an animal* 
not to mention other accessories, the whole lx?ing 
attached to a lioard* The receiver consists of a cup! 
into which is placed a portion of a metallic sphere 
attached to a membrane (which fits over the cup) by 
a metallic rod*" — Mr. R, K. Harkman, Philadelphia, 

"This photograph is not of some strange animal 
with two heads and eight legs* hut a snap-shot (taken 
at the Zoological Gardens, London) of two young 
giraffes in the act of picking up food from the 
ground/* — Mr. R G. Sydney Frere, 10, Wakefield 
Road, Tottenham, N. 

11 The accompanying photograph is of the leg 
of ft bush Imclc (Tragzfafihm syhvtttim), which 

the vertebra must 
have been carried 
about in this pecu- 
liar position for at 
least two years, " 
—Mr. Frank A- (X 
Fym, Public Mu- 
seum, King Wil- 
liam's Town, Cape 

fl I send you the 
photograph of a 
number of clogs, 
cut and stacked for 
drying* When dry 
they arc sent to 
England to he 
shaped and made 
up, mostly in Man- 
chester. What 
Iheir ultimate desti- 
nation may In; is 

rather problematical, but it is safe to say thai the 
majority find their way to Brittany, where ihe 
1 sabots? as they are called by our French neigh - 
hours, are still in great favour among the peasantry. 
The photograph was taken at Clonmel, Co, Tip- 
peraryV — Mrs. Hugh G. (rough, West field, Arundel. 






M A candlegraph is made by getting a person to sit 
in a chair with his face between a boarcL with a 
piece of white paper pinned on to U and a lamp or 
candle ; a shadow of the profile of the sitter is thus 
thrown on to the paper, Anoiher person now draws 
a line round the shadow, the likeness is then cut out, 
and the outside portion of the paper pasted on black 
Hnenelte. Uy tnis method, if care is taken, a very 
fair likeness can he obtained." — Mr. A. B. Couss- 
inaker, t r Concrete Villas, Lehidy Road, Camborne. 


" I send you a photograph of a shingle which was 
blown from the roof of Grange Hill House, Jamaica, 
ami driven into this dry eocoanut, sixteen chains 
away, in Great House Plantation, during the hurri- 
cane which occurred on August loth and nth, 19°3- 
Tlu- >l 'in;.v- U firmly wedged into cIk- cocoiHiil ind 
will not come out*"' -Mr. Y\ W. Wilmer, Lothian 
House, Ryde, Isle of Wight. 

QUR readers are requested to look at a new 
publication, the first number of which is now 
on sale, entitled *— 



and which is issued under the same auspices as 
"The Strand Magazine." 


Origi nal froffl- 



C^f\r\n\i x Original from 


(£«/fltf? 247.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxix. 

MARCH, 1905. 

No. 171. 



By Max Pemberton. 

Foreword. — This is the tribute of Zaida Kay, the friend and sometime the 
companion of the Marquis de Lafayette, who, at the age of nineteen years, forsook 
his country and his family to embark his fortune and his life in the cause of freedom 
and the liberty of a great people. But twenty-one years of age himself when he 
accompanied the American agents to Paris in the year 1776, Zaida Kay was present 
at Barren Hill and subsequently at the defeat of the British troops in Yorktown. 
Thence he returned to France, believing that he could be of some service to General 
Lafayette, who had befriended him in a signal manner in America, and was then 
believed by the American people to be in some grave peril by reason of his principles 
and their practice in Paris. The story of this adventurous journey is not the least 
satisfactory page in the life of a man of singularly attractive character and indomit- 
able courage. Zaida Kay was first and foremost the friend of Lafayette ; but he was 
also a sterling soldier, who never forgot a kindness nor willingly did any man an 
injury. His attempt to rescue the Marquis from the prison of Olmutz ended in failure, 
but not in ignominy. And it is well to know that fortune, often capricious, dealt justly 
with a man who did no evil that lived after him, nor carried to his grave upon the 
banks of the Potomac the aftermath of that harvest his good deeds had reaped. 



T is very well known to all 
the world that M. de 
Lafayette, when he would 
have gone over to the help of 
the American Colonies, was 
much beset by the opposition 
both of the Government and of his family. 
As it fell to me to be of some service to 
him at that time, and particularly when he 
quitted Paris in the year 1777, I can do no 
better than speak first of the event of his 
departure from France and of the dangers he 
evaded upon that occasion. 

Now, the ship La Victoire^ which was to 
carry us to America, had been lying awhile 
in the Spanish port at Pasages, while the 
Marquis himself, the better to deceive his 
enemies, set out upon a visit to England ; 
and upon his return to Paris gave it out that 
he had abandoned his Quixotic notions and 
thought no more of them. Such a trick 
deceived few, his father-in-law, the Due de 
Ayen, not being among the number ; and it 
speedily became necessary either to put the 
project to the venture or to abandon it for 
all time. So it happened that he quitted 
Paris in the early days of April, and, deter- 

Vol. xxix.— 31 

Copyright, 1905, by Max Pemberton, in the United Slates of Am. 

mined upon gaining the ship, was ready, if 
need be, to sacrifice his fortune to that 

I did not accompany the young Marquis 
from the capital ; but, it having been arranged 
that I should return to America upon his 
ship, the third week of the month found me 
at Bordeaux ; and I repaired at once to his 
hotel, and there discovered him in a state of 
great apprehension and some despondency. 
The ship, which he had bought with his own 
money, still lay at Pasages ; but his father- 
in law had sent the officers after him to 
Bayonne, and he knew that every road from 
the city was guarded. None the less, I dis- 
covered that his resolution was unshaken, 
and that the same ideas of humanity and 
freedom animated him here upon the 
threshold of his venture as had earned him 
the pity of the sycophants in the salons of 

" I am going to America, let them do what 
they will," he would say, and then, his young, 
earnest face lighted up by a thought which 
gave it beauty, he would continue : " Each 
must do as his own conscience teaches. 
The happiness of your country is intimately 
related to the happiness of all humanity ; she 
will become the worthy and safe asylum of 
virtue, of integrity pjf, ^plerance, of equality, 




and of a peaceful liberty, If the least of us 
can further her aims, should he be discouraged 
by his friends, even though they call him 
mad ? " he added, with a laugh. 

I had heart enough for his sentiment ; but 
with the officers upon the high road waiting 
to clap him into a French prison, and his ship 
lying ready for us in a Spanish port, and but 
half a day's grace to call our own, I was all 
for practice and none for philosophy, and so 
I told him as civilly as a friend might do. 

u Whatever they would do, Marquis/ 1 I 
said, " let it be our business to do it first 
You have carriages and horses at your com- 
mand. Is there 
any law which for- 
bids us to make 
as good use of 
them in Bordeaux 
as we did in Paris ? 
lake my advice 
and put it to the 
hazard. We shall 
get nothing 
old wine in 
town, and a 
may have 
much of that 
up and off 

M The very thing ! " cried I, jumping up at 
the words. " Go as a courier you shall, 
while M. de Mauroy rides in the coach, A 
hundred guesses would not have done better 
for us, Marquis." 

Well, we all stared at one another as men 
who have stumbled upon a great idea by 
accident Perhaps we should have argued it 
this way and that, putting all the pros and all 
the cons ; but the words were hardly spoken 
when the landlord came running in to tell us 
that the dragoons were at St. Jean de Lux, 
a little village upon the road beyond 
Bayonne, and that we had not an hour to 

the officers are still 
indoors looking fur 

He liked my 
which was a good 
enough foil to his 
own prudence ; it 
was plain, never- 
theless, that he 
was but half 

" I would most 
willingly obey you, 
with a laugh, "but 


friend Zaida," said he, 
do you forget that M. 
de Mauroy drove with me to Bayonne no 
more than three days ago ? Surely it is 
hazarding too much to believe that the 
people will not recognise me." 

" Do you go in that fine dress with the 
King's gold lace upon your shoulders they 
will certainly recognise you," I admitted ; 
4( none the less, there are other ways and 
other clothes," I added, a little sharply, for 
his bom dread of authority in fine feathers 
was little to the liking of an American. This 
he did not take amiss, 

11 Here is good friend Zaida Kay ready to 
make a courier of me," said he to M. de 

lose, M. de Lafayette needed no other 

" I put myself in your hands," said he, 
" Let us go at once." 



We drove out of Bordeaux without loss of 
time, M. de Mauroy sat upon the Marquis's 
left hand, I faced them and kept an eye 
upon the grooms who followed after with 
our horses. M. de Lafayette's preoccupation 
did not surprise me. If I wondered at all 
(and it was no hour for w r onder) my astonish- 
ment expressed itself in a silent tribute to 
this exceptiohll|IilniAfiV«:who abandoned his 
familyL^^^l^uO^jlC^l^^ight, by his 



example, defend those new principles of 
liberty and freedom whose consideration 
then animated so large a portion of the 
civilized world. This could provoke both 
amazement and pity. I remembered his 
child-wife — but eighteen years of age, and 
two years the mother of his little girl, 
Henriette. I recollected his fortune of six 
thousand livres a year ; the place and power 
awaiting him in Paris; the dolours which 
must attend his venture across the seas ; the 
trifling achievement which could in any case 
be looked for. " You know not what you 
do," I thought. And yet was it for me, an 
American, to speak my thoughts aloud? 
Nay ; I wished him " God speed " with 
all my heart, and asked nothing better than 
to be of service to him in the days to come. 

Our journey to Bayonne proved tedious, 
but without event, except it were the hint of 
soldiers upon the road and of increased vigil- 
ance upon their part. We left that town 
upon the morning of the third day after, and 
were already three miles upon our road when 
we brought the carriage to a halt and began 
to prepare ourselves for the ordeal before us. 
An old man by the wayside, ready enough to 
tell us all he knew and more for a crown, 
gave us news of the dragoons and of the 
questions they had put to him. "There 
were six upon horses," said he, "and one 
that was a mighty fine gentleman. Your 
Excellencies will find them at St. Jean de 
Luz. Do they pass by again, I will make 
it known that you are seeking them." 
We thanked him for his tidings and bade 
him say, if any asked him, that M. de 
Lafayette and a party of gentlemen had 
driven out upon the road to Marseilles. At 
which he scratched his head and, laughing 
flatly at the Marquis, he cried, "Til save 
your neck if I die for it, my brave boy." And 
be it added that this merry old rascal was 
within an ace of bringing us all to grief at 
St. Jean de Luz. 

. The Marquis was much perplexed when 
he heard that the dragoons had ridden on 
before us, but I hastened to point out to him 
that it was well for us they had done so. 

" They will not look for you in a village 
inn," said I ; " and if they halt anywhere, 
expect to find them at the frontier. All the 
town believes that we are riding to Marseilles. 
We do well to follow upon their heels and 
not to have them after us, Marquis. I am 
all for going ahead upon the horses and leav- 
ing M. de Mauroy here to play your part in 
the carriage. He has papers to defend him- 
self, and may well hold them up long enough 

for us to make the ship. And if it be not 
to-day it will be never," said I, for I truly 
believed that any further delay would deliver 
him into the hands of his enemies. 

"Would you clap friend Mauroy in the 
Bastile?" he asked, with a laugh. 

" Aye, readily," said I, " if I could put you 
on the ship thereby." 

" And I am to deck myself out in these 
clothes ? " — he put it to me. 

" Here and now, by the roadside," said I ; 
" 'twill be a tale for M. de Mauroy to tell in 

They both laughed at this, and we alighted 
from the carriage at a bend in the road where 
a little wood somewhat shielded us from 
observation ; and there M. de Lafayette put 
on the clothes of a gentleman's servant, the 
same which he had carried out of Bordeaux 
with him. For myself, the habit of an 
American traveller was good enough for me ; 
and the warning coming from the grooms 
that there were strangers upon the road 
behind us, we mounted our horses in some 
haste and put them to the gallop. Ahead of 
us now lay the hamlet of St. Jean de Luz, 
set high upon the cliff side. As we mounted 
from the lower road the. ocean wind caught 
us fairly and with such strength that we must 
duck our heads and clip the saddle with our 
legs to keep a seat at all. 

" It will be a rough passage," said the 
Marquis as we went. 

" If it is a passage at all, I shall count the 
day lucky," said I. 

" There must be no mishap," said he ; "1 
am set upon this, Mr. Kay, and no consider- 
ation of the consequences will turn me back. 
At the hazard, I rely upon your support in 
any circumstances we may have to face." 

" You may count upon that all the time," 
said I, " though for that matter I am not 
sure that it is not a very foolish business, 
Marquis. You were better at Auvergne, as 
all the world has told you." 

He answered, a little bitterly : — 

" The world is very old, Mr. Kay, and I 
am young. But it is the youth of the world 
which is going to save the people." 

I left him with it. He was a man of pre- 
cept, and would have spoken it even upon the 
scaffold, I believe. I reckoned that his faith 
in other channels would have made a priest 
of him, and his affection for my people bound 
me to him in bonds of steel. But this was 
no place to tell him so ; for here we were 
clattering up to the stables of the inn at St. 
Jean de Luz, and there stood a sullen ostler 
ready for our horses and promising us good 



meat and drink within* To judge by the 
looks of the place a man could He as safe 
here from his enemies in Paris as though he 
were the master of an island in the South 
Seas ; but I was ever on the side of prudence, 
and 1 held M. de Lafayette by the arm while 
I questioned the man and asked his news, 

u We are to find apartments for his 
Excellency the Marquis de Lafayette, who is 
now upon the road from Bordeaux/' said I ; 
" he is a man not much given to company. 
If you have a full house, make it known to 
us and save our time and your labour, You 
will lose no- 
thing by your 

He was a 
tousled - headed 
rogue, and he 
looked at me 
askance with an 
odd pair of sea- 
green eyes, while 
he said : — - 

"Aye, honesty 
is a good enough 
bed-fellow when 
your purse is full 
of crowns." 

" His Excel- 
lency has crowns 
enough/ 1 said I, 
"for those that 
know how to 
serve him." 

"Then I'm 
your man/ J said 
he, "and may 
my father die of 
the spotted fever 
if your lord does 
not He alone in 
the house." 

"You sorry liar," said I ? 
and I caught him by the 
throat and shook him until 
his teeth chattered in his 
head. For what should 
happen even as we talked but that one of the 
dragoons we had been fearing all along came 
out of the inn door, a hundred paces away, 
and, crossing the road with scarce a glance in 
our direction, went straight into a house upon 
the other side of the way ; and there, I 
suppose, fell tooth and claw upon the meat 
some good wench had roasted for his 

" Ho, ho ! " said I, " here is honesty with a 
pistol at his head— and by all your spotted 

ancestors," said I, " you shall know what's 
inside it if you lift a finger against us." 

The rogue went white enough as I forced 
him back against the stable door ; and I 
doubt not that my manner deceived even 
M. de I^afayette. But I made a sign to him 
over my shoulder; while to the shivering 
wretch in my grip I said : — 

"These men are asking after his 

" What's that to me ? Am I to die for it ? " 
"They will question you by-and-by." 
"Let them keep their hands from my 

throat and I'll 
answer them 

" Saying that 
my lord rides to 

J1 Where's 
honesty now ? " 

" Honesty is 
promising you a 
handful of 
crowns. Listen, 
booby. You 
have met his 
E xce l len cy's 
courier, and he 
has told you that 
the place is 

" I'll say no- 
thing about the 

" Wiser not ; 
and, hark ye, if 
you lie to us, 
Heaven help 

I showed him 
a purseful of 
crowns and bade 
him go into the 
stable with the 
horses which the 
dragoons had 
tethered there. 
Our own we led to a stall upon the farther side 
of the yard. The loft above it seemed built on 
purpose to hide us ; and had we been observed 
riding up to the inn, I made sure that the 
officers would already have questioned us. 
There were no windows upon our side of the 
house ; and if the rascally ostler made any 
attempt to play us false I had determined to 
shoot him down there and then.' You may 
ask why we did rsr?t riik* straight on to the 
frontier. L |{|ffl!OT?^eM^ haVe 




been compelled to pass the inn door publicly 
— it lay some little way from the stable 
yard, and the risks of discovery had been 
greater. That the ostler believed us to be 
M. de Lafayette's couriers I was convinced ; 
and in telling him the truth and offering 
him money I both ensured his silence con- 
cerning our presence at the inn and made 
a story for the dragoons which could not 
fail to mislead them. 

" For," said I, " he will give the courier's 
account that it is the road to Pasages, and 
they, believing the courier to be a liar, will 
set out upon the road to Toulouse, and a 
merry journey I wish them." 

And with this in my mind I followed the 
Marquis up the ladder and boldly entered 
the hay-loft at the top of it. 

" It will do very well," said he. 

And then he stopped short and the pair of 
us stood looking at each other with that silly 
air which overtakes a man when he discovers 
his own foolishness and it is too late to draw 



" She's asleep," said the Marquis. 

I peeped over his shoulder, as a man may 
do at a babe in a cot, and said I, " Tis true 
enough ! " The young lady lay fast asleep 
in the straw, and many is the rogue who 
would have waked her with a kiss. 

"This is no servant of the inn," M. de 
Lafayette ventured in a whisper. 

I replied, no louder, that she was evidently 
a person of quality ; " but," said I, " her 
father's chateaux are in Spain." 

"That must have been her pony in the 
box below," said he next. 

I answered him that she had ridden to the 
place as we had done, and was up here in 
the hay-loft for the very same reason that 
had sent us there. 

" She's afraid of the soldiers," said I, " and 
a wise little head to be that." 

" If she wakes and discovers us here, she 
will scream," the Marquis imagined. I 
differed from him altogether, and said so. 

" The same good sense which brought her 
to the loft will give her the wit to ask a 
question first," said I. 

We were in the thick of an argument about 
it when my lady woke up for herself, 
and looking about her for a spell wildly 
enough, now at the Marquis, now at me, 
laughed openly in our faces and told us 
something which we knew already. 

" Vou are M. de Lafayette," said she, and 

repeated emphatically, " Oh, yes, yes, M. de 
Lafayette, and the soldiers from Paris are 
after you." 

He bowed in a manner that only a man 
born and bred to the gallantries of a French 
noble could imitate ; and then he said : — 

" You have quick eyes, mademoiselle. I 
am M. de Lafayette, as you say, and the 
soldiers from Paris are after me." 

" And you rode through I run a week ago, 
in a carriage with M. de Mauroy. My father 
told me your name. • ' That is the Marquis/ 
he said, 'and his ship is at Pasages. He 
wishes to go to America, but his friends pre- 
vent him.' " 

" Your father is well informed, it appears. 
Am I not to have the honour of knowing 
his name ? " 

"My father is the Count of Beauvallet," 
she said, as though she had named one of 
the greatest in France, and not a poor wretch 
of an adventurer (as I knew the Count to be) 
without a crown in his pocket or a single 
good coat to his back. But I liked the 
child's devotion for all that, and so did 
M. de Lafayette. 

"I am proud to know the Count's daughter," 
said he. " It will be another pleasure to be 
presented to her father." And then he bowed 
again, as these Frenchmen do whenever the 
word gives them the half of a chance. 

I perceived that his retort perplexed her. 
For the moment, perhaps, she had forgotten 
why she was in the hay-loft with us, and the 
somewhat undignified position we three stood 
in together. A more engaging, self-possessed, 
witty little woman all France had not shown 
me. I gave her sixteen years ; and there was 
light enough in the place for me to tell you 
that her eyes were the blackest that ever a 
man called blue at all. 

"Oh," said she, thinking upon M. de 
Lafayette's words, "my father rode toward 
Bayonne at dawn to-day, and I have come to 
St. Jean de Luz to meet him. We are going 
home together, you know ; he told me to be 
at the inn at twelve o'clock. If he does not 
come you cannot be presented to him, 
monsieur — unless you go to Irun with 
me," she added, naively ; and I do believe 
that she had the mind to flirt with the pair 
of us. The Marquis, however, was never a 
man to take overmuch notice of womankind; 
and he replied to her, gravely enough : — 

"The Count will surely return, since he 
knows that you are here, mademoiselle. I 
suppose that you do not care much for the 
company of soldiers ? Are you not hiding 
Iron, r^^^^M^^^n ? " 



She was about to respond when I heard a 
clattering of horsemen on the street without ; 
and, venturing my head at the window of the 
loft, I perceived the travellers who had fol- 
lowed us from Bayonne. It did not occur 
to me, at the moment, that the old rascal of 
the roadside had told them all about us ; 
and I was quite content to see them go 
ambling by to the inn door, where the 
dragoons had gathered, 

" I thought it would have been Mauroy 
and our carriage," said I, 

li And I thought it was my father," said 

" Is he often late upon the road ? >3 the 
Marquis asked her, 

"Never when I am to meet him at St. 
Jean de Luz," she exclaimed, and this 
betrayed the anxiety she began to suffer 
" Di\ Laurens went with him," she continued, 
almost immediately, "'and the Sieur Chaudry. 
He did not come and kiss me as he always 
has done, I spoke to him from the window 
and told him I should be at St. Jean. He 
did not seem to hear me. Do you think, 
messieurs, that 
anything has hap- 
pened to my 

We would have 
laughed it off — 
who would not ? 
For nly part I 
had just made up 
a fine tale, and 
had settled my- 
self beside her in 
the straw to tell 
it, when I caught 
a look upon M. 
de Lafayette's 
face I did not 
like to see there ; 
and, springing up 
again, I heard the 
voices of d ragoon s 
in the yard at our 
very feet. In- 
stantly the three 
of us fell to dead 
silence; you 
could have heard 
a mouse in the 

"In a carriage 
on the road to Marseilles," 
cried out someone below. 
And a voice answered, 
"There's a red rat in a trap 


for you ! " — meaning the Marquis, who had red 
hair, as all the world knows. I thought from 
this that the fellows were about to take horse 
and ride away back to Bayonne without more 
ado ; but presently the first voice cried out 
again, if We must find the courier if we bum 
out the town," And at this the young lady 
pinched my hand in hers until her little 
finger-nails almost cut my flesh- M. de 
lafayette, however, never moved a muscle 
of his face* There he stood, as near to the 
pri son -gate of his liberty as ever free man 
stood in this world, the yard below him full 
of the King's soldiers, their determination to 
arrest him avowed ; and yet I'll swear he was 
no cooler when last I had seen him at his 
own dinner-table in Paris. 

W hat was to be done ? Should we go out 
and face the men or trust to clever tongues 
when they discovered us. To that Mile. 
Beauvallct made answer* Without a word 
of warning, giving no sign of her purpose, she 
ran down the ladder from the loft, and the 
next we knew of it was a shout of welcome 
from someone below and the voice of the 

man who had 
spoken of the 
red rat. So, thus, 
a child in years 
but a woman in 
discretion risked 
her honour and 
her good name 
for the sake of two 
strangers she had 
encountered by 
chance at the 
critical moment 
of their lives. 

Her idea had 
been to hold the 
soldiers in talk. 
I believe that the 
officer in charge 
of them, a certain 
Captain Berna- 
dotte, notorious 
for his gallantries 
toward women* 
and the uncle of 
that General Ber- 
nadotte who be- 
came famous in 
Napoleon's day — 
I believe that he 
wa s well ac- 
quainted with 
nziiair.aLf_r^ni Pauline Beauval- 

HER TELLTKG HIM AS-PlNfl I XI TAlM- ' ' ' i . j i 

A wrD """Qftmt&TY OF MICH&.lT 1 y 



ready to find himself in her company. On 
her part, we could hear her telling him as fine 
a tale as ever a wild writer spun. She also 
had seen two men enter the stable and come 
out again into the yard and ride away, she 
declared ; and Heaven forgive her for that, said 
I ; though by the letter it was true enough, 
Her father, the Count, she added, must be 
even then in the village, and would have 
the news of the Bayonne road- What was 
more surprising was the way these fine- 
feathered gentlemen took it In and listened 
agape to her 
romance. In 
justice to them, 
be it said that 
they had no cause 
to suspect her 
honesty or to 
imagine that she 
had ever met M, 
de Lafayette in 
all her life. 

" We must fol- 
low the men to 
I run," cried the 
captain ; and 
then, very mean- 
ingly, he leered 
at mademoiselle 
and asked her to 
ride that far with 
him, "We thai! 
pass the very 
door of your 
father's house," 
he put it to her ; 
"what could be 
better than that, 
when there are so 
many dangers on 
the road ? " 

She, however, 
had years enough 
to colour up at 
his words, and 
she answered him with a pretty dignity I had 
not looked for in such a child, 

" I shall wait for the Count, my father ; he 
would not wish me to go," said she. 

"But you cannot remain here alone, 1 ' 
pleaded the captain, coming quite close to 
her and beginning to wind one of her black 
curls about his fingers ; " the Count would 
never forgive me if I went on without you/ 5 

"Then you will have to go unforgiven, 
monsieur," said she ; and the dragoons 
laughed out at him upon that. 

The situation was difficult enough, I must 

Vol. xjtix.— 32 

say ; and I doubt if M, de I.afayette's fortunes 
ever stood in such jeopardy. I^et any man 
ask himself if we could think only of ourselves 
while this brave girl risked name and reputa- 
tion for our sakes and was put to open shame 
by the blackguardly dragoon in the stable 
yard. It needed no word from M. de 
Lafayette to tell me what he thought of it 
Had it cost him his life he would have 
gone down to Mile, Beauvallet's side, and I 
should have spoken no word to keep him 
back. For the matter of that he stood 

within an ace of 
doing it ; and he 
had so nearly dis- 
covered himself 
that another step 
would have 
showed him to 
the officers, when 
the sound of a car- 
riage approach- 
ing upon the 
Bayonne road 
diverted both his 
attention and that 
of the fellows 
below, and in- 
stantly we forgot 
and her embar- 

" It must be 
Mauroy," whis- 
pered the Mar- 
quis to me. 

I had no doubt 
of it. P laving his 
part as we com- 
manded him to 
do, M. de Mauroy 
followed after us 
in the carriage, 
and driving fast 
by the stables of 
the inn he per- 
ceived the dragoons and bade his coachman 
go straight on* The boldness of it tricked the 
captain and caught him in its meshes. 

" It's Lafayette, for a thousand crowns," 
cried he ; and then he roared to his men to 
bring out the horses, and there was such 
a hurrying to and fro, such a shouting of 
" Whoa!" l£ Get up!" and "Stand still there!" 
that a regiment might have been falling in. 
I thought, at the first j that the road would 
be cleared for us without more ado ; but as 
I was pluming mvsdf upon the circumstance 
the rantw le^D^riij(p.-ljyp-^-ddle and bawled 





out to a couple of his men to keep watch at 
the stable gates. Then he went clattering down 
the road after the carriage, and mademoiselle 
below, making a sign to us to be still, brought 
out her pony and went after him. 

44 Evenly matched," said I to the Marquis 
when she had gone, 44 and not such fat birds, 

44 Where's the girl gone, I wonder ? " 

44 Oh, she's clever enough — don't be uneasy 
on her account. There's something in the 
wind, be sure of it. And a fine lot of talk 
there will be when they catch Mauroy," said 
I, remembering our joke that he was to be 
clapped in the Bastile. M. de Lafayette, 
however, looked mighty serious, and I am 
sure that he began to understand how small 
was his chance of ever setting foot on the 
deck of his ship. 

44 He has good horses/' he exclaimed 
presently, referring to Mauroy and the 
carriage, "but they will catch him before 
he has gone a mile. If we are to get out of 
this place we must lose no time, Mr. Kay. 
Those fellows at the gate do not look very 
formidable. Do you think we might venture 

44 There's not a doubt of it," said I, 44 since 
it is evident they have business of their own 
to attend to." 

It really was remarkable, and yet not 
remarkable at all if you knew the secret of it. 
The dragoons set to watch the stable yard 
now loitered in the middle of the road gazing 
after their comrades who pursued the carriage. 
Presently they began to advance step by step 
in the direction of the inn door, as though 
someone were beckoning them. I perceived 
plainly that Mile. Beauvallet was at the 
bottom of it, and, losing no instant of the 
precious opportunity, I ran down the ladder 
and called out to the Marquis to follow me. 

44 She's worth her weight in gold," said I 
to him, as we led the horses out. 44 Don't 
you see that she's tricking them ?" 

But he was still thinking of the carriage. 

44 We shall have to pass the others if we 
are to make Pasages," said he. 

44 Then we'll go at a gallop," said I ; and 
so we rode into the street. 



Half the population of St. Jean de Luz 
gossiped in the street when we rode from 
the stable door. The girls had run out with 
mantillas about their pretty ears ; the men 
smoked indifferently, as though a game were 
being played for them. All, however, were 

Digitized by VjQOgJC 

looking down the road after the soldiers, 
who had disappeared in a cloud of dust on 
their way to the Spanish frontier. As for 
the dragoons who had left their posts, I 
perceived them in earnest talk with made- 
moiselle under the very signboard of the 
inn. Had they looked round by any chance 
and called the people to their assistance our 
chance was gone for good and all. I had 
my heart in my mouth as we rode, and I 
wondered a hundred times why I had been 
mad enough to let the Marquis go on. 

Now, little Mile. Beauvallet saw us, for she 
had been wise enough to hold the men in 
talk with her back toward the flying dragoons ; 
and it really was wonderful to see how cleverly 
she acted her part, bending down in earnest 
converse with them and telling, I do not 
doubt, some story of the Marquis which they 
would remember for many a year to come. 
We had perhaps a hundred yards to go to 
come up with her, and this journey carted 
us by some of the villagers, who remarked 
our presence, not by a shout as you would 
have imagined, but by nudging each other 
and pointing and indicating plainly that they 
knew us, but would not speak. In this way, 
as much to my surprise as anything which 
ever happened to me, we found ourselves 
presently within fifteen paces of the inn door, 
and would have gone right on in safety but 
for the rogue of an ostler, who came running 
out without any warning and shouted tipsily, 
" Here goes honesty with his pocket full of 
crowns." Making a dash at my horse he 
caught the bridle and had me on the side- 
walk before a man could speak. At the same 
moment the dragoons turned their heads, 
and catching sight of us, one rushed upon 
M. de Lafayette ; the other, shouting to 
the ostler to hold on, was about to pay me 
a similar compliment when my little lady 
upon her pony threw her bridle rein about 
his neck and had him triced up beside her 
in an instant, as neatly as any rogue that ever 
stood in Execution dock. 

I swear it was as clever a notion as any 
clown at a theatre might have thought upon. 
There they went, pony and girl and dragoon, 
round and round like a top upon its peg, and 
not a man in all the village street could lift a 
hand against us for laughing. As for my own 
case, well, I did no more than pick the ostler 
up by the seat of his breeches and pitch him 
back to the place whence he had come — and 
that's what I owe to my reputation in Phila- 
delphia, thought I — for many had called me 
the strongest man in the city. When I had 
done with hire and turned about to see bow 

■-■I I LJ 1 1 I u l l l ■_' 




the Marquis was getting on, I found the 
dragoorr holding like a cat to his stirrup- 
leather, while he, not willing to kill the man 
by a blow, could not, nevertheless, control 
the horse, which began to gallop in fright and 
to drag the fellow with mad heels along the 
road to Irun and the Spanish frontier. And 
assuredly there would have been some grave 
tale to tell, but for mademoiselle and her 
pony. Just as she held the first of the 

from the village folks ; but I pointed out to 
him that she must be well known in the place, 
and that from all I had heard in Paris the 
Count of Eeauvallet was not a man to be 
trifled with, 

11 They spoke of him as a great fighter, a 
man whose sword had cut his fortune to 
bits. She is his only child," I said 

"I believe it to be so," M, de Lafayette 
rejoined. " He is a wild creature who leads a 


dragoons with a noose of her rein about his 
neck, so presently ditl she block the road to 
the Marquis and to the fellow at his stirrup- 
leather. The check brought the villagers to 
their senses and the man to his feet While 
until this moment there had been nothing 
heard but laughter and the screams of 
women, now strong hands dragged the mad 
dragoon from his hold and thrust the pony 
aside. I cried to the Marquis to go on, and, 
believing that this was the last word oppor- 
tunity had to say, I followed him at a gallop. 
We were out of the town and over the crazy 
bridge which crosses the river Nivelle while 
the people still argued as to which of the 
dragoons was the greater fool of the two. 

"It will be the ship after all/' said I t "and 
thanks to mademoiselle for the second time." 

" I am doubting if we were in the right to 
leave her," said he* 

I understood that he had in his mind 
some possible harm which might befall her 

gipsy's life and pays dearly for it. When I 
return to France I will not forget his child," 
and this was very earnestly said. 

In my turn, I told myself that the day 
would be very distant when I should forget 
the black-eyed little girl {for black they were 
when you did not catch the full light upon 
them) who had waited so patiently for her 
father in the stable yard at St jean de Lux, 
But I had been a wizard if I had foreseen that 
day of terror and of man's night which must 
bring me, after years, to her side again. 

We were out upon the broad high road to 
Irun when these words passed, and, although 
it was well enough to have the sea-salt in our 
nostrils and the splendid hills before us, it 
did not seem that our position had been very 
greatly improved by what we had done in 
the town. Somewhere between us and the 
frontier the dragoons were riding. They 
must have come up with the carriage by 
this time, and would have discovered M. 



de Mauroy inside it. Our object was to 
pass them by, either boldly at a gallop or 
by stratagem. Nor, in spite of all the light 
words about it, could we forget that our 
comrade might suffer something upon 
our account ; and, failing to find M. de 
I^afayette in the carriage, the soldiers might 
have carried Mauroy off as their prisoner. 
This put us to no little anxiety, and we began 
to ride warily, asking each other at intervals : 
" Do you see them ? Is that the carriage ? 
Who comes yonder?" and such-like questions 
natural to the circumstances. We were a 
good mile from St. Jean de Luz when we got 
any news, and then it came from the last 
person I had looked to find there — M. 
de Mauroy himself, sitting by the roadside 
and laughing so heartily that minutes passed 
before he could speak to us. 

" Well," said the Marquis, a little sharply, 
" and where is the carriage, Mauroy ? " 

" Half-way to Irun," cried he, with his 
hands upon his sides ; " and the curate of 
Urugne inside of it." 

" What !" exclaimed I. " You gave them the 
slip, then ? " 

" I met the curate at the bridge," he said, 
speaking quickly, lest he should laugh away 
his senses ; " he was going my road, and I 
offered him a lift. When he got in I got out 
and told the boys to drive like the wind 
for Irun. And that's the last I know of it," 
said he. 

"Then the red-legs passed you by?" I 

" At the gallop," said he, bursting out 
again ; and so silly it was to see him con- 
vulsed at his own tale, and the Marquis as 
grave as an archbishop, that I came near to 
falling out with the pair of them. 

" It's much good we are doing ourselves," 
said I, " chattering on a roadside when every 
minute is precious. If we stop here long 
enough the ship will have weighed. And 
we are to have company, it appears. Who 
would this be now, and why is he saluting 

A man had ridden up while we talked — 
an honest-looking fellow with black hair 
that would just be catching a glimmer of 
the grey ; in dress neither a soldier nor a 
civilian, but betwixt and between the two ; 
forty years of age, I should say, and as well 
mounted as any I had seen this side of Pans. 
His salute, it appears, had been intended for 
M. le Marquis. I perceived instantly that 
they were well known to each other. 

" Le Brun," cried M. de I^afayette, with 
pleasure at the recognition, 

The man replied wisely by telling us his 
news without delay. 

"The carriage is at the Chateau Beau- 
vallet," he said. " I heard that you were on 
the road, and told them a tale. If you press 
on you may yet do it. The woods will give 
you cover." 

"Are you speaking of Mile. Pauline's 
home ? " I asked him. But, of course, it 
could have been no other. Destiny willed it 
that for the third time in one day the name 
of Beauvallet should be our salvation. 

" I would have said so yesterday," the man 
replied ; " but Heaven knows now." 

"Then something has happened, Le 
Brun ? " the Marquis exclaimed. 

" Her father, the Count, was killed in a 
duel with Armand Sevigny this very morn- 

A dead silence fell upon us. For a 
moment our own purpose, its great meaning, 
and the hazard of our situation were for- 
gotten in the memory of this brave girl and 
the sorrow which awaited her. I was the 
first to speak. 

"Heaven help her," said I; "and what 
will she do, think you ? " 

"I shall do nrf best," Le Brun said, 
quietly. "There is still employment to be 
had for those who have a skin to sell. 
Hasten on while you may, Marquis. They 
are searching the chateau, but they won't 
lose any time, believe me. My horse is at 
the disposal of this gentleman here. He can 
leave him at the inn at Pasages, and I will 
send for him to-morrow." 

He dismounted upon the word, and 
M. de Mauroy took his place. It was no 
time to dawdle with excuses. Such thanks 
as we had to express to this silent, swift- 
thinking man the Marquis uttered. 

" It's a long way from Irun to Metz," he 
said, "and little did I think, Le Brun, that 
when next we met I should be upon rpy way 
to America and you at the Spanish frontier. 
Well, such is fortune ; may it bring you 
recompense. And Heaven bless you," said he, 
"for any kindness you may show to the 

"And Heaven keep you out of King 
George's way," was the quiet retort of this 
singular man. They parted upon that, and 
without another word we put our horses to 
the canter and faced the crisis. 

The dragoons were at the Chateau Beau- 
vallet ! Count Maurice was dead ! Little 
Pauline waited for him at St. Jean de Luz ! 
We, with our eyes upon the great ocean, were 

* the ^tS^\%F«G# h chose to 



that the quarry had escaped 

M America, by Heaven S " 
cried L 

The Marquis did not speak. 
His eyes were dim as they 
gazed upon that great ocean 
which lay between him and the 
land of freedom in whose cause 
he had been willing to sacrifice 
all that men hold dear. 


betray us- to the soldiers. Let them have 
a sentry : jx*s ted at the gate of the chateau, 
and the good ship La Vitt&ire would sail 
without its master. These things were in our 
minds as we approached the dead Count's 
house and perceived its white pinnacles rising 
above the woods and the stately trees about 
it Was it win or lose for us — the Bastile, 
perhaps, or the waters of our freedom ? In 
five minutes we should know ; in five minutes 
the tale would be told. I shaded my eyes 
with my hand as the critical moment drew 
near, and peered down the road. Aye, truly, 
a man stood at the gate of the chateau. You 
could see him plainly enough — but he was 
no soldier 

"It's the curate," cried M, de Lafayette, 

"And, by all that's sacred, they've robbed 
him of his clothes," said M. de Mauroy. 

Well, we went by him at the gallop — a 
thin, wan man, who implored us as we passed 
to lend him a cloak for charity's sake. His 
request I could not answer for laughing, nor 
dare we lose one of the precious moments. 
The dragoons were behind us now, and we 
could hear their wild shouts as they discovered 



It has been my lot to cross the 
great Atlantic Ocean on five 
occasions, but I have never 
known a voyage which gave me 
more concern than the one 
which carried the Marquis de 
Lafayette to General Washing- 
ton's camp in that memorable 
year 1777, 

We had escaped the dragoons 
at St. Jean de Ltiz, as I have 
shown you ; the Spanish officers 
at the frontier were well disposed 
inward us and we made the 
ship La Vicimre at a moment 
when her captain had aban- 
doned all hope of seeing us. 
Once on board, we found our 
friends from Paris, the Baron de Kalb, 
Colonels Del esse r and Valfort, and younger 
officers, among whom I would name the brave 
Dutchman, de Bedaulx, who saved the ship 
by his courage when the captain would have 
played us false. Such a great strapping pirate 
of a man I have never known ; and I do 
truly believe that a half of a chance would 
have seen him afloat in a ship of his own 
with the black flag flying at the mizzen. 

An anxious company and a crazy ship and 
a cause which would have apjxrared to he 
at the very ebb of its fortunes — a man does 
not make over gay upon these. When we 
sailed away from the Spanish shores and 
turned our eyes wistfully to the great West, 
be sure no gay chantey went with us, but the 
close talk and earnest words of men who are 
face to face with the chief business of their 
lives. The Dutchman, Bedaulx, provided 
what merriment we got. He was all aboard 
upon the deck by day, and by night a poor 
sleeper ; trailing a great cutlass from his girth 
and roaring out oaths like a pirate king. 
When we fell across the ugly business in the 
fifth week of the voyage, it was Bedaulx who 
brqught r ttWTMa s r I qgk.-|:Q I - J iKierica and kept 




us out of a West Indian port, as you shall 
presently hear. 

I say that this happened on the Sunday 
of the fifth week. The Marquis was still 
too unwell to leave his cabin overmuch ; 
the rest of us walked the deck almost day 
and night, fearful of English privateers and 
island pirates of all nations. As Bedaulx 
wisely said, we were in a way no better off 
than outlaws nor entitled to any greater 
consideration. The English would sink us 
on sight j the privateers of both nations would 
help themselves to our goods ; the pirates 
would put out a plank willingly enough for 
the lot of us. Every sail upon the horizon 
brought our hearts into our mouths. We 
altered our course more than once because a 
star shone low down upon the horizon. It 
was just the toss of a coin, as Bedaulx never 
forgot to remind me whenever we walked the 
quarter-deck together. 

" I^afayette will never be taken," he would 
say ; " it's promise to him. This ship and all 
aboard are going to glory first. I've made 
my plans, friend Zaida, and I count upon 
you. We'll have a torch to the magazine and 
a psalm afterwards. You won't quarrel with 
that, eh, Master Prudence ? You have the 
right stuff in you, or I don't know a man 
when I see him." 

They had learned to call me " friend 
Zaida " aboard the ship, and many spoke of 
my prudence. Perhaps I had learned habits 
of gravity from a good Puritan stock that 
sailed away from Norfolk in the Mayflower 
before a State in America was more 
than a strange name to them. However 
it might have been, laugh or cry, I cared 
not at all if I could be of service to M. de 

For, remember, here was the son of one of 
the greatest houses in France, lying in a 
frouzy cabin upon a crazy ship, sick to des- 
peration, heavy at heart and woebegone 
—his child-wife more than a thousand miles 
away from him — a bitter war before him, 
and not knowing whether he would ever see 
his own country again. 

As we came to learn afterwards, while this 
was his portion, great folks in Paris were cry- 
ing over his heroism, the salons clapping 
their hands, and even the Court afraid to 
lift a finger against him. A few called him 
mad, that's true, but they looked foolish 
enough before the words had been long 
spoken. The- better part of the nation 
applauded him already, for of such stuff the 
nation's heroes had been made. And I shall 
say it now and once for all, that never have I 

known a man who gave his heart more wholly 
to a cause which had no claim upon him, or 
one who would so willingly have suffered for 
his faith. 

But I was telling you of that Sunday in 
the fifth week when, after watching weary 
days for King George's ships and weary 
nights for all manner of phantom pirates 
that never came near us, I was called up by 
Bedaulx at dawn and asked by him what I 
made of a strange sail upon our starboard 
bow. The weather had turned easy ; a light 
breeze from east by north just filled our sails. 
We rolled lazily upon a kindly swell, and 
being a miserable sea-boat caught plenty of 
white caps with our monstrous bows. When 
I had clambered up the companion I found 
a little group of the ship's company, with 
one or two of the Frenchmen, all peering over 
the starboard bow at white sails upon a clear 
horizon ; and they seemed confident that 
there stood a King's ship, and that we should 
know more of her presently. The Marquis, 
however, they had not waked ; and I, for one, 
spoke against them doing so. 

" She's as likely to be American as 
English," said I. "There were privateers 
from Charleston enough when I shipped for 
France, and more have been built since that 
day. If you are going about for every yard 
of white canvas on the skyline," said I, " why, 
then, it had been better if the dragoons had 
clapped us all in the prison at Paris." 

Bedaulx, the Dutchman, took the words up 
and swore by Heaven and below it that we 
should hold the course though the Great 
Mogul sailed the ship and a thousand Tartars 
were with him, from which it would appear 
that he had little learning from his school — 
and, indeed, I have found these Dutchmen 
but poor hands at their books. 

"Yon's no Great Mogul on these seas," 
said I. " As likely as not she's as honest a 
ship as ever sailed out of New York Bay. 
Let the captain speak up. It's time we 
heard a word from him." 

Now, the captain of our ship was a crafty 
man, with a cargo of his own below hatches 
that he had the mind to carry to the West 
Indies. M. de I^afayette believed in the 
fellow, but both Bedaulx and myself had 
our doubts about him, and there were days 
when we questioned his intention to carry us 
to America at all. On this particular morn- 
ing, when it was a case of holding our course 
or going about again to steer clear of the 
strange sail, that mongrel of a man cried out at 
once for safety. "And,' 1 asked he, "would 
you forget what I have ahoaid ? " — meaning, of 



2 55 

course the Marquis and the officers. Bedaulx 
was down upon him like a cannon-ball, 

" Aye," says he, "ye have the hold full of 
bales, that's what ye have aboard, captain. 
And Til tell you what, moreover," says he ; 
"yeVe this aboard as well as twenty in the 
same shape when we have the mind to draw 

The captain turned as pale as a sheet at 
these words, for the Dutchman whipped out 
a great sabre and hacked a piece off the 
bulwarks as big as a man's thumb. The rest 
of us, fearing some outburst, dosed round 
about our comrade ; while the crew gathered 
all together amidships and seemed to wait 
for the captain to make some signal to them. 

tL Sir," said he to Bedaulx, when he had* a 
little recovered from his surprise, "the law 
would justify me if I put you in irons for 
this, 3 ' 

We laughed out- 
right at the fel- 
low's impudence 
— none louder 
than Bedaulx. 

"Oh!" cried 
he, "I've a great 
love for the law, 
and so have my 
friends. Let the 
French King try 
me for hanging 
the louse of a man 
who is afraid of 
his own shadow, 
and no sheep 
shall go to the 
shearing more 

And then, ad- 
vancing step by 
step upon the 
officer, he cried 
as fierce as a Rar- 
bary pirate : — 

" Our port's in 
South Carolina, 

captain, and what we have aboard is a round 
do^en of honest men who will see that under 
Providence we make it. Put your airs 
in your pocket, my man, and attend to the 
business of the ship, for, by the coat upon 
my back, I'll cut you in two if you so much 
as think a treachery," 

Well, there they stood facing each other, 
upon the one side an honest dog not afraid 
to bark \ u[>on the other a snarling cur 


willing enough to snap if he 

lie half 

of a chance. What would have come of it — 
whether an unseemly brawl between the crew 
and the soldiers or something more serious, 
which \w should have regretted afterwards — 
I am not able to tell you ; for a cry came 
over the sea to us in the wry thick of it, 
and turning our heads we perceived the 
strange ship and understood in a twinkling 
both her purpose and our danger. She was 
a pirate sloop, flying the black flag as bold as 
brass, and occupied at that very moment in 
sending defenceless men to their death out 
there in the waste of the lonely ocean, 

To say that this discovery astonished us 
would be by no means to convey a true sense 
of our dismay and perplexity. Our own 
petty quarrels were forgotten in a flash, and, 
awestruck and silent, we crowded to the 
bulwarks to watch that fearsome spectacle. 

If the Atlantic 
Ocean had writ- 
ten the story many 
times since brave 
ships sailed upon 
her waters, no 
man on the decks 
of La Vict o ire 
had beheld such 
a scene with his 
own eyes or could 
name it as within 
his experience. 
There, upon a 
gentle swell, a 
great ship rolled 
lazily in the trough 
of the sea* A 
hundred yards 
away from her 
stood the pirate, 
her sails close- 
hauled and her 
black flag flutter- 
ing bravely. Be- 
tween the two a 
long-boat passed 
twice without rest- 
ing, but the cry 
had come from the stricken ship's deck — 
the cry of a helpless lad whom the wolves 
were driving into the sea. Not by a plank, 
as the common story goes, but through 
a gap in the bulwarks amidships the villains 
pushed and dragged the poor creature to his 
death. My glass showed me the bright steel 
of their cutlasses ; they had not bandaged 
the eyes of their victim, but half lifting him, 
some beating him with the flat of their blades, 
some thrtSfifignakfhifiii cruelly with their 




knives, they sent him headlong over the side. 
Now, the spell of this foul deed worked a 
cruel fascination upon us all, and we did not 
move from our places for many minutes. 
Captain Bedaulx came first to his senses, and 
when I turned about at his words such a row 
of ghastly faces I have never seen nor would 
see again. Not want of courage, be sure of 
it, was that which troubled my comrades. 
They were as brave a company as I have 
sailed with ; but they knew, as I knew, that 
we were utterly defenceless against the 
pirates ; that our cannon aboard would not 
stand the firing ; that the ship itself was 
rotten to the core ; and that we had as good 
a chance of defeating the rogues as of meet- 
ing the great Lord Howe's ships and sinking 
them. This put them sorely to doubt. If 
we stood by, our turn would come next. If 
we launched a boat, she would carry her 
crew to the same death those poor fellows 
yonder were dying. We were the servants 
of a great cause ; our duty, it might have 
been said, lay over yonder upon the great 
Western Continent ; we owed it to M. de 
I^afayette to act with prudence and circum- 
spection. For my part, I said plainly 
that if the Marquis wished us to venture to 
the help of those poor creatures I would be 
the first into the boat. But I did not quarrel 
with the Dutchman for his haste, and when 
he shouted, " Gentlemen, there are women 
on board that ship ! " I shut my lips and did 
not speak another word. 

We had two boats aboard La Victoire^ one 
a cutter and the other that which seamen call 
a long-boat. But they had been so securely 
made fast upon our decks that even the 
willing hands which now went out to the 
work could not readily unship them. I 
would have given my little fortune to have 
been aboard an American — aye, or an 
English— vessel at that moment ; for what 
with horrid cries from the drowning men, the 
uncertainty of our own position, and the 
rage and anger at our hearts, it seemed to 
me that hours and not minutes passed before 
we had the cutter launched and could 
number a crew to man her. 

To the credit of the company be it said 
that not a man stood back. The willing 
fellows almost fought with one another to be 
first aboard ; and when all was ready their 
impatience to be cast off did a man's eyes 
good to see. Let this go to their credit, 
although they struck no blow against the 
pirate. They were not a hundred paces away 
from us when the captain roared out that the 

unknown ship was sinking. They were still 
holding their course when a voice behind me 
cried, " Those are English frigates ! " Turn- 
ing about, I found the Marquis at my side. 

" What is it, Mr. Kay ? " he asked. " What 
has happened ? " 

"That flag should tell you, Marquis," I 
said. " Yonder's one of the creek pirates, 
and that ship is their prey/' 

" But those others, Mr. Kay ? " 

" I had not seen them," I said, all excite- 
ment enough. "They are English ships, I 
do believe." 

Swift changes come to us readily enough 
when we are abroad in search of fortune. 
But that change in the ocean picture, as I 
viewed it from the deck of La Victotre^ has 
had no companion within my experience. In 
a twinkling the positions were reversed. The 
great ship, hit badly by the pirate's gunners, 
settled without warning and sank by the bow, 
a horrid cry going up from her decks, and 
honest men and villains alike engulfed as 
she disappeared. The pirate sloop let go 
her sheets at the same instant, and, without 
a thought of the hands she left behind, raced 
at her best speed toward the south. That 
which had been a deserted horizon showed 
us the spreading sails and black hulls of two 
of King George's frigates. Our own boat 
held on to the help of the drowning people, 
ignorant that a new danger had come upon 
us. M. de Lafayette busied himself with the 
captain, and refused to have the signal made 
which would have recalled the cutter to us. 

" No, no," he said ; " it is but common 


" It will be more than common humanity 
when the frigates come up with us," said I. 

" We must do our duty," he rejoined ; and 
his face flushed and I knew how greatly the 
anxieties of that hour and all that he suffered 
were telling upon him. But I did not reply 
to him, and when he had watched the cutter 
a little while he turned to me and asked : — 

" Why are you not in the boat with the 
others, Mr. Kay?" 

" Oh," said I, " perhaps I was afraid." 

And then he shook his head, and laying 
both his hands upon my shoulders he 
exclaimed, with more warmth than I ever 
remember him to have used : — 

" You stayed to be with me. It was that, 
Zaida Kay?" 

In my turn I had nothing to tell him at 
all, except to speak of my love toward him, 
which, Heaven knows, has always been a 
precious thing to me. 

by V_ 


(To be continued,) 

ginal from 

Manuel Garcia and His Friends. 

By His Former Pupil, Malcolm Sterling Mack in lay, M.A. 

CENTURY ! It seems incre- 
dible to those who have had 
the privilege of knowing 
Signor Manuel Garcia, the 
founder of the famous Garcia 
School of Singing, that this 

can be his age, and yeL, full of vitality as he 

is, it is true. On March 17th the maestro will 

enter on his hundred and first year. It is hard, 

perhaps, to 

realize all that 

this implies, 

and yet some 

of the facts 

which follow 

from it appear 

to a musician 

almost beyond 

belief What 

a unique link 

we have with 

the past, on 

learning that 

Signor Garcia's 

singing master, 

Giovanni An- 

zani, was born 

some hundred 

and fifty odd 

years ago, 

when Bach 

was still alive 

and Handel 

but a short 

time dead! 

Beethoven and 

Schubert were 

still young 

men when 

Signor Garcia 

himself came 

into the world 

— Chopin and 


not even bom. 

When Signor 

Garcia was already a full-blown operatic bari- 
tone, Gounod, Wagner, and Verdi were school- 
boys. There are a few dates in connection with 

the maestro's life which bring his astounding 

age before the general reader perhaps more 



From a Photo- by Itarrauds, Ltd,, given 
December, 1004, ihrec months 

vividly than the mention of such names as 
those just given. 

Born in Madrid in the year 1805, when 
George III. was on the throne of England, 
the young Manuel left his native Spain during 
the advance of Wellington on Badajoz in the 
Peninsular War ! He was ten years old when 
the Battle of Waterloo was fought ! Eighty 
years ago he was singing the leading baritone 

rdks in Italian 
opera, one of 
his greatest 
being in the 
part of Figaro 
in "The Bar- 
ber of Seville.* 
The maestro 
retired from 
public singing, 
taking instead 
to teaching, a 
matter of 
years back. In 
r8so he re- 
signed his 
position at the 
Paris Conser- 
vatoire and 
came over to 
England to 
start teaching 
here. Such 
an event as 
the Siege of 
Paris is of 
course with 
him quite 
modern his- 
tory. It is 
natural, but 
none the less 
astoundi ng, 
that the maes- 
tro should have 
on more than one occasion had pupils come 
to him for lessons whose parents and grand- 
parents had also studied under him. 

When first I went with my mother — who 
had herself been a pupil some thirty years 
Original from 


to the writer and signed liy l he maestro, 
before bis hundredth birthday, 



previously — to sing to Signor Manuel Garcia, 
the maestro was ninety years of age. The 
maestro said he would give me lessons, but 
as I was still up at Oxford it would be better 
to wait a year before the training was com- 
menced. There was something uncanny in a 
man aged ninety telling one to come back in 
a year and start work under his guidance. 
Yet, seeing and talking with the maestro, one 
could not doubt that he would be there, 
ready and waiting to start, at the appointed 
time. Nor was the supposition wrong, for 
work commenced when the necessary months 
had elapsed. The maestro was nearly ninety- 
two when the lessons commenced, and my 
studies under him continued regularly till 
he was in his ninety-seventh year. That 
Signor Garcia should have been able to 
continue giving lessons at all at such an 
age is sufficiently astonishing. That during 
these four years the maestro should only 
have had to put off lessons through 
indisposition upon some three or four 
occasions gives a still keener insight into his 
life at that age. Nor has the maestro been 
at all a home-bird until the last two or three 
years, for it is no long time back that, 
accompanied by Mrs. Garcia and his two 
daughters, he went for a holiday up the 
Nile, and, what is more, enjoyed it most 

What wonderful experiences those lessons 
used to be — lessons which would last any- 
thing from thirty minutes to two hours ! 
When the maestro was interested in explain- 
ing certain effects in singing, or in recounting 
stories of great artists and operas, in connec- 
tion with the work in hand, time would cease 
to exist. The luncheon bell would ring 
three or four times without any effect upon 
the maestro, so wrapped up was he in his 
subject, and at the end of the lesson he would, 
with all the old courtliness of his youth, insist 
on seeing one out. If one opened the door 
and stood aside to allow the maestro to pass 
through it w^s quite useless, for he would 
with a gesture insist on his guest preceding 
him ; a small incident, but one which gives a 
singular insight into the life and character of 
Signor Manuel. Almost more surprising is it 
that he should have continued to carry on his 
own correspondence, and many a long letter 
was received from him during these years. 

Throughout the lessons the maestro would 
remain seated at the piano, undertaking all 
the accompaniments himself, while in the 
case of the old Italian operas he would 
generally play from memory. To illustrate 
the proper way of taking a note or the effect 

which he wished given in a song Signor 
Garcia would sing the note or phrase himself. 
The voice would naturally tremble somewhat 
with age, though in a surprisingly small 
degree, but the timbre, enunciation, and 
dramatic power were still there, while in all 
there came out the extraordinary fire of the 
Spanish temperament. On one memorable 
occasion he sang an entire two octaves from 
A to A. It sounds incredible, but is an 
absolute fact. He would, moreover, keep 
well up to the times in music, and take one 
through quite modern songs and operas, 
including even Wagner, though the style of 
the latter naturally did not appeal to him 
very much, with his love of the lighter instru- 
mentation of Italian music. 

During a lesson the explanations would not 
always be made in English, but very often in 
French or even Italian, so that as a pupil one 
found it necessary to keep one's wits about 
one. What made, perhaps, a deeper impres- 
sion than anything were the recollections of 
years gone by, which the different "arie" 
would call up. One aria, for instance, which 
I went through with the maestro, led him to 
remark, " Ah, I taught that to Stockhausen 
for his debut" Stockhausen was, at the time, 
about sixty years of age. Yet these words 
were spoken in the most delightfully non- 
chalant way, as if it were one of the most 
perfectly natural things which any master 
might have said. 

On another occasion the failure to imme- 
diately correct a fault after being once told of 
it provoked the retort : " Jenny Lind would 
have cut her throat before she would have 
done such a thing ! When Jenny Lind made 
any mistake I would stop her and point it 
out. Should the explanation not be grasped 
at once, I would be asked to repeat it a 
second time, and, perhaps, to show vocally 
exactly what was wanted. After which the 
mistake would never, never be repeated from 
that day onwards." 

It was, to say the least, somewhat unusual 
for a master to compare one with a pupil 
whom he had taught in the Paris Conserva- 
toire some fifty years previously. 

Again, an opera brought to him for study 
would as often as not bring forth remi- 
niscences of its first production, and, in 
addition, some of the maestro's personal 
recollections of the composer. In endeavour- 
ing to describe some of the stories told con- 
cerning Manuel Garcia and his friends, who 
lived during the earlier part of the nineteenth 
century, one cannot help feeling what a loss 
it has been to music-lovers, and, indeed, to 

by L^OOgle 





Facsimile of an aria written out for the author by Signor Garcia in his ninetytsixth yeak, giving. 
Signor Garcia's elaborations on the original melody.. 

those outside the musical world, that Signor 
Garcia was never prevailed upon to write 
some reminiscences in years gone by. 

The family being of Spanish origin, the 
name is properly pronounced Gar-s-ia (or 
Garthia, to give it the real Spanish pronun- 
ciation). Certainly it is neither Gartchia 
nor Gar-sher, as it is so often called. 

Manuel Garcia's father, the elder Manuel 
Garcia, was born at Seville in 1775, a 
hundred and thirty years ago. One result of 
a few years' training under Manuel the 
Second is that casual queries as to what 
anybody was doing seventy years previously, 
or where their father lived a hundred years 
ago, seem the most ordinary small-talk. 
Moreover, it gives one quite a different way 
of looking on the age of one's fellow-men. 
Sixty-five seems somehow to be just the 
beginning of a man's prime, while for anyone 
to talk of retiring at seventy-five appears to 
be merely ridiculous. As for a man giving 
up dinner-parties simply because he is eighty 
years old, why, it seems inconceivable. In- 
voluntarily one compares these things with 

by K: 



Signor Garcia going yp the Nile at the age 
of ninety-six, and playing the piano, teaching, 
and singing at ninety-aght, with the only 
possible result. 

The elder Garcia was an excellent teacher 
of the voice and composer of many operas. 
He was one of the greatest tenors that ever 
existed, with the most wonderfully florid 
execution, and created among other parts 
that of Almaviva in " The Barber of Seville " 
some ninety years back, while his greatest 
successes in addition to this were in "Othello " 
and " Don Giovanni." An idea of his attain- 
ments may be obtained from the story of his 
first appearance at Naples. Being engaged 
to sing at the Opera House, the elder Garcia 
thought he would like to do something at 
the first orchestral rehearsal to show them all 
that he was not one of the ordinary small fry, 
and so gain their respect as a musician as 
well as a singer. 

The opening tenor aria in the opera which 
they were to rehearse was a very difficult 
one in the key of E flat. The orchestra 
played the introductory bars, and waited 




with a casual sort of interest for the new 
singer's opening phrase Garcia commenced, 
but, instead of doing so in the key in winch 
they were playing, he began to sing a semi- 
tone higher in E natural. At first the 
orchestra were horrified at the terrible dis- 
cords which resulted* Gradually, however, 
as the aria went on, with the singer still 
singing exactly a semitone too high, it 
dawned on them what he was doing —that 
instead of merely singing sharp, through 
nervousness or lack of ear, he was inten- 
tionally singing a semitone too high through- 
out. Consequently, when they heard him 
continue singing his 
part in E natural, yet 
without a moment's 
hesitation or a single 
false note (for so great 
a musician was the elder 
Garcia that he could 
abstract himself entirely 
from the surroundings 
and from the sound of 
the orchestra), their 
disgust turned to sur- 
prise, then admiration, 
and, finally, enthusiasm. 
When the aria was con- 
cluded there was an 
enormous burst of ap- 
plause and the wildest 
excitement among them 
all, for they saw what a 
really great singer they 
had found in this new- 
comer. Of co urse, 
Garcia, afterwards, sang 
all the rest of his part a™*] 
in the proper key, but 
by this novel entry he had won the lasting 
respect and admiration of the orchestra. 

It used to be the custom of the old com- 
posers to write in a way a mere skeleton of 
the voice part, particularly with regard to the 
conventional ending. The singers of their 
day were all good musicians, and were 
expected to elaborate the simple melody 
given them, and upon this foundation to 
raise a graceful edifice adorned with what 
ornaments their individual taste dictated, 
and suited to their own power of execution* 

When the elder Garcia was at Naples, one 
of the old Italian composers came to practise 
a new opera. At the opening rehearsal 
Garcia was given his part to read off at sight. 
When his first aria was reached, Garcia sang 
it off with perfect phrasing and feeling, hut 
exactly note for note as written. When he 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 


had finished the composer said, "Thank 
you, sign or, very nice j but that was not the 
music I intended" Garcia asked for an 
explanation, and was told that the composer 
had intended the bare melody which he had 
written down as merely a skeleton, which the 
singer should clothe with whatever his imagi- 
nation and artistic instinct prompted. He 
would like to go through it again, and wished 
Garcia this time to treat it exactly as though 
it were his own composition* Garcia was 
skilful at improvising, consequently in doing 
the aria for the second time he made altera- 
tions and additions, with runs, trills, roulades, 
and cadenzas, all per- 
formed with brilliant 
execution. When he 
came to the end of the 
aria the old composer 
shook him warmly by 
the hand, " Bravo ! 
Magnificent ! That was 
my music as I wished 
it to be given." 

From this story it will 
at once he seen that 
the elder Garcia was 
not only a singer but a 
musician, which is un- 
happily not always the 
case. In fact, Rossini 
once said to Signor 
Manuel, ££ If your 
father had had as much 
savtrir /aire as savoir 
musical he would have 
been the first composer 
of his time," 

The freedom allowed 
by the old composers 
to their singers became after a time somewhat 
abused. Some of the singers were found 
lacking in the artistic taste, musicianly feel- 
ing, and in some cases the proper know- 
ledge necessary in making such alterations 
as the above story of the elder Garcia 

In consequence of this Rossini insisted on 
the singers in his works performing the arie 
exactly as written. He would himself clothe 
the melodies with all the execution, roulades, 
and cadenzas which had been previously 
left to the performer, 

Signor Garcia tells a good story of Rossini 
in connection with the death of Meyerbeer. 
A certain young composer, having written a 
funeral march to the memory of the great 
man, came to show his music to Rossini, who 
had always been the greatest friend and 
Original from 




admirer of Meyerbeer. Having played it 
over, he asked for Rossini's opinion. 

" Well, there is one alteration I should 
have preferred/ 5 said Rossini 

"What is that?" 

" I would rather have had Meyerbeer 
write a funeral march for you" 

There is a further one told of Rossini's 
admiration for Meyerbeer, Theirs was a 
genuine friendship in which jealousy had no 
place, and they would take a real pleasure in 
each other's success. They were on one 
occasion seated together in a box listening to 
Meyerbeer's opera, "Robert the Devil" At 
a certain part of the opera Rossini was quite 
carried away with enthusiasm for his friend's 
music. Leaping to his 
feet with excitement he 
shook Meyerbeer's hand 
rapturously, t( If you can 
write anything better than 
that, Til — PU dance on 
my head." 

"Then, my dear Ros- 
sini, you had better com- 
mence practising at once> 
for I have just completed 
the fourth act of 'The 
Huguenots,' " 

Signor Garcia gives a 
most interesting reminis- 
cence of Rossini in con- 
nection with the debut of 
Maria Garcia^ better 
known under her married 
name, Mme, Malibran* 
At the time in question 
the elder Garcia was away 
in Mexico, while Signor 
Manuel and his sister re- ' VwBBl 
mained in Paris. Rossini 
had heard Mme. Malibran sing many times at 
social functions, often, indeed, having him- 
self accompanied her at the piano. And yet, 
though perfectly aware what a splendid singer 
Maria Garcia was, Rossini never made her 
any offer to sing at the Opera House. 

At last Mme. Mali bran's opportunity 
arrived, but from quite another source. A 
friend of theirs — Galli, a famous basso — was 
having a benefit at the Opera House, He 
offered to put on " Semiramide " if Mme. 
Mali bran would like to sing the title rok. 
After consulting with Signor Manuel, Mme. 
Malibran decided to accept the offer. Her 
debut was, therefore, duly made, and her 
success proved instantaneous. Such a scene 
over a debutante had not been known for 
years* The next morning Rossini sent to ask 

by Google 

Signor Garcia round to his rooms. Signor 
Garcia found Rossini in a tremendous state 
of excitement, and prepared to offer Malibran 
upwards of a hundred thousand francs a year 
for four years if she would bind herself ex- 
clusively to sing for him, and only in French 
opera. Rossini was at this time director both 
of the Italian Opera and of the Grand 
Opera House, where French alone was per- 
formed. This offer of Rossini's was an 
immense one for those days, but after careful 
consideration Mme. Malibran decided to 
refuse the terms, feeling that it would be 
unwise to give up Italian and confine herself 
entirely to singing in French for so long a 
period, Mme. Malibran did, however, appear 
for Rossini in a few other 
operas at enormous fees, 
with, if possible, greater 
success than before. 

Now, it seemed very 
extraordinary to Signor 
Manuel and his sister that 
Rossini should have 
heard her sing times 
without number in 
society without even men- 
tioning such a thing as 
engaging her, and yet 
suddenly, after hearing 
her at the Opera House 
in music which Mme. 
Malibran had sung to 
him often before, he 
should at once make her 
a magnificent offer for a 
term of years. Why was it? 
They could not tinder- 
stand at all, and accord- 
ingly one day asked Ros- 
sini for the explanation. 
H It is true," answered Rossini, "that I 
knew Maria was a brilliant singer from 
listening to her at private houses. But I had 
never heard her sing in a big opera house 
and before a large audience. So I felt that I 
could not make her a definite offer which 
would at all gauge her true worth. Either I 
should be offering Maria less than she was 
worthy and by this be doing her an injustice, 
or else I should be offering her more than 
she was worth, and so be doing myself zx\ 
injustice. But now that I have heard Maria 
before an audience, and have observed what 
effect they mutually have had each on the 
other, I can come and offer the very largest 
sum which her singing is intrinsically worth. 
That is the explanation of what I have 

Original from 





Rossini was a curious man, with the 
eccentricity of genius strongly developed. 
He would soar aloft on the wings of his 
muse and then suddenly drop to earth, a 
second Icarus, save that, instead of the sad 
ending of that classical story, his would be a 
ridiculous one. The story of his meeting 
with the Emperor Nicholas is an amusing 
illustration of this. Rossini, while working 
at his composition, used to sit before the 
desk in shirt-sleeves, and with his trousers 
very loose indeed, so as to feel comfortable. 
Hinc illce lackrynue ! When the Emperor 
Nicholas came to Paris he thought he would 
like to see the wonderful composer, and so 
decided to visit the maestro. The Emperor 
accordingly set out unattended, arrived at 
Rossini's rooms, and knocked at the door. 
" Qui est Ik ? " " Nicholas." " Entrez ! " The 
Emperor entered, and Rossini quickly rose 
up to welcome his distinguished visitor. 
Unhappily, as Rossini jumped up his trousers 
slipped down, leaving him covered with con- 
fusion — and a shirt ! 

Rossini never had any very great venera- 
tion for Royalty, and probably felt very little 
disturbed at such a denouement occurring in 
the presence of the Emperor Nicholas. When 
Rossini came over to London he was, on one 
occasion, ordered to St. James's Palace to 
appear at a party given by George IV. The 
King was most gracious to the Italian com- 
poser, and expressed great pleasure at his 
compositions. At the end of the evening, as 
the party was about to break up, the King 
asked Rossini for one more piece, which 
should be the finish. 

" Sire, I think we have had enough music 
for to-night," replied Rossfiii, and took his 

Rossini admired and followed the old 
Italian style of music, in which the orchestra 
formed purely an accompaniment to the 
singers, whose voices were throughout an 
opera the principal consideration. Conse- 
quently, when Wagner appeared with his 
great orchestral effects, it is not to be won- 
dered at that Rossini should not have 
approved of the new composer's work. One 
day an admirer of Wagner asked Rossini his 
opinion of Mendelssohn compared with 
Wagner as a composer. Rossini's answer 
was commendably brief, epigrammatic, and 
to the point : " Mendelssohn wrote * Songs 
without Words,' while Wagner writes * words 
without songs.'" 

This reminds one of Mark Twain's remarks 
upon Wagner in an after-dinner speech made 
&t a certain Wagner Society in America. 

by t_ 



"Gentlemen, I have been lately taking a 
great interest in the works of Wagner ! 
(Applause.) I have been out to orchestral 
concerts to hear his music played ! (Applause.) 
I have stayed at home earnestly to study 
his compositions in the full scores (loud 
applause), and the conclusion I have arrived 
at, gentlemen, is — that Wagner's music is 
really not /ta/f&s bad as it sounds." 

But to return to Maria Garcia. After 
her debut in Paris, Mme. Malibran went to 
various parts of Europe and America, carry- 
ing all before her wherever she sang. When 
Mme. Malibran went to Milan to make her 
debut in that city, Mme. Pasta was a great 
favourite at the Opera House. Her most 
effective part was Norma, and such enormous 
success .did Mme. Pasta make in this rSIe 
that the Milanese used always to allude 
to her as Norma instead of Pasta. The 
director of the Opera House asked Mme. 
Malibran on her arrival in what part she 
would like to make her first appearance. 
Mme. Malibran at once replied, " As Norma, 

"But, madame, consider — do you forget 

"I do not care for Pasta. I will stand 
or fall as Norma." 

So Norma was announced. At the first 
night Pasta came to hear the new-comer, and 
took up her position in the middle box of the 
grand tier, amid the loud applause of the 
populace. Malibran made her first entrance 
without any sound of encouragement, and 
her opening aria was received in deliberate 
stony silence. Her next number was the 
trio, " Non tremar." After a certain passage, 
which Malibran had to render at about 
the middle of the trio, the audience 
suddenly forgot themselves and yelled out 
" Bravo ! " instantly followed by cries of 
" Hush ! Silence ! " The trio came to an 
end ! Not a hand ! Instead there were 
heard sounds of dispute from all parts of the 
house : " She is great." " She is nothing of 
the kind." " She is better than Pasta." " No, 
she isn't," etc., and these continued for the 
rest of the evening. The second night 
Pasta did not come to hear her new rival. 
Malibran came on and sang her first aria. 
Immense applause ! And this continued 
throughout the evening with ever-increasing 

At the close Malibran was called before the 
curtain again and again, and when she left 
the Opera House to drive home, the populace 
took out the horses and themselves dragged 
her to the hotel. From that moment 






Malibran was the pet of the Milanese public 
■ and Pasta was nowhere. Signor Garcia adds 
that Pasta was a most finished vocalist, but 
always cold, while the singing of his sister 
Maria was full of warmth and fire. What a 
blow it was to the musical world when 
Mme, Malibran was cut off at the very zenith 
of her career about the time, of her father's 
death ! 

Signor Garcia's youngest sister, Pauline 
Viardot, made her first appearance, not in 
France, but in England, at the Haymarket 
Opera House, in " Othello," and with great 
success. A brilliant career on the operatic 
stage followed, 

during which f 

Mme, Viardot 
created the part of 
Fidks in Meyer- 
beer's "Prophfcte" 
and the title-rAfc 
in Cluck's "Or- 
feo." After twenty- 
five years Mme, 
Viardot decided 
on retirement, and 
started as a teacher 
of singingat Baden- 
Baden, In the 
of Antoinette Ster- 
ling," which have 
already appeared, 
there was a de- 
scription of the 
entertainme nts 
which Mme. Viar- 
dot would give at 
Baden - Baden in 
the little private 
theatre built in her 
own grounds. 
These would be 
thronged by cele- 
brities from every 

land — poets, painters, musicians, diplomats 
— while on one occasion Mme. Viardot was 
honoured by a visit from the old Emperor 
and Empress of Germany. It will also be 
remembered how, on Mme. Viardot's birth- 
day, Herr Brahms came up to the house in 
the early morning with a number of her 
pupils, to perform at her window a birthday 
serenade which the great composer had written 
in madame's honour. 

When Antoinette Sterling arrived in 
Baden-Baden to take lessons from Mme* 
Viardot, it was direct from her studies with 
Signor Manuel Garcia, Having studied 


From a Photo, by Benque and Co f , Paris. Signed and given to the 
late Mme. Antoinette Sterling. 


Italian music with the maestro, my mother, 
when first presented to her new teacher, said 
she would like to take some German Lieder. 
Mme. Viardot smiled at the audacity of her 
pupil, and merely replied, "Will you bring 
your Italian to-morrow, please ? " 

For some months "Miss" Sterling — as 
my mother then was — continued to ask 
whether she might bring her German next 
time, but was ever met with the same 
placid smile, the same twinkling eye, and the 
same unwelcome words, il Bring your Italian 
music for the next lesson." It was not until 
almost the close of the stay in Baden-Baden 

that one day Mme, 
Viardot said, 
H Now you may 
bring your German 
music, if you 
wish ! IJ 

After some 
years Mme. Viar- 
dot left Baden- 
Baden for Paris, 
where she is still 
living, at an ad- 
vanced age, and 
bids fair to follow 
in her brother's 
footsteps, and her- 
self reach her hun- 
dredth year. 

At an early age 
Signor Manuel re- 
ceived instruction 
in singing from his 
father, the elder 
Garcia, and, as 
already stated, 
from Giovanni An- 
zani, the voice 
heing a high bari- 
tone. At the age 
of twenty he 
began to sing 
on the operatic stage. He was always a 
marvellously quick "study" in learning any 
fresh operatic rtfr. In Italy they would in 
those days allow the artists nine days to 
learn a two-act opera. For three acts they 
would increase this to twelve days, and for 
four acts sixteen days. Garcia remembers, 
when Meyerbeer's " Prophete " was written 
and first brought out, how all the singers 
grumbled at its great length. Vet for this 
they were given only eighteen days, and the 
same number was given for "William Tell," 
Short though these periods used to be, 
compared with the amount of work to be 
Original from 



"fejti &*^- 




accomplished, they were a great deal too 
long for Manuel Garcia, who would learn the 
whole of his part in three or four days. 
At the end of ten days he would have 
picked up the parts of all the other singers 
as well, so that, if necessary, he was per- 
fectly able to prompt them during the 
final rehearsals. In Mexico he actually used 
to do so. The elder Garcia used rather to 
take advantage of his son's extraordinary 
memory, and if he was feeling indisposed 
would say, " Manuel, you go on and take my 
part to-night." So Signor Manuel would go 
through the performance successfully, singing 
instead of his own baritone rdle the tenor 
music of the opera, altering the very high 
parts to suit his range. This was, of course, a 
great strain on the voice. Coupled with this, 
he used to work a great deal too much at 
singing during those first few years, when he 
was still young ^and the voice as yet hardly 
set. The consequence of this was that the 
voice soon began to show the effects of over- 
work, the " bloom " became worn off, and in 
five years from his debut Signor Manuel 
retired from public singing to give up all his 
time to teaching. 

Shortly after his first appearance in opera 
Signor Manuel accompanied hi$ father and 
his sister Maria upon a long tour through 
America, and an incident occurred on that 
tour which is certainly worthy of note. The 
party had arrived in Mexico, and when about 
to open their season at the Opera House 
began going through the scenery, dresses, 
and — last, but not least — the music, to see 
that everything was in order. What was their 
horror to discover that all the orchestral parts 
and the score itself of " Don Giovanni " had 
been left behind ! What was to be done ? 
The opera was one of the most important in 
their repertoire, and was advertised to be 
given in but a few days. There was no 
possibility of getting the missing music 
sent on in the time from the last place, 
for journeys out there take as many 
days as they take hours in England. The 
elder Garcia remained perfectly calm in 
the midst of the excitement. They could 
not possibly give up the opera, and they could 
not give it without the music ! Very well, 
then ; he must write out another copy of 
the score as best he could from memory. 
So forthwith the elder Garcia set to work and 
wrote off the whole of the full orchestral 
score. As each portion was finished it 
was given out to copyists, who got ready 
the separate parts for the various instruments. 
How successfully the elder Garcia carried out 

Digitized by CiOOQ IC 

his self-imposed task may be judged from the 
fact that when "Don Giovanni" was duly- 
performed no one present could tell that it 
was not the original score. 

Owing to the constant overwork which this 
American tour entailed, Signor Manuel, after 
some months, began to feel afraid that his 
voice might him at any minute when 
on the stage. His father and mother laughed 
at this as absurd, and told him that he must 
make his debut in Paris, as they had set their 
hearts on it. So to please his parents 
Signor Manuel left them in Mexico and went 
over to Paris to make an appearance there. 
He duly appeared, and after one performance 
wrote to his parents that, having now 
appeared in Paris as they had wished, he was 
going forthwith to devote his time to 
teaching and give up a public career. This 
he accordingly did, and started in 1830 as 
a teacher of singing at the Conservatoire 
soon after. 

In the year 1850 Manuel Garcia gave up 
his appointment at the Paris Conservatoire 
and came to London, where he has made 
his home ever since. The maestro had been 
in England barely four years when he gave to 
the world that extraordinary invention, the 
laryngoscope. This is the story, which the 
maestro told one day, of how he came to 
invent it. He had for years been puzzling 
over the human voice. " If only I could see 
the glottis ! " This was what was ever in his 
thoughts. One day the idea came upon him 
like a flash. "Why shouldn't I try to see 
it? But how must it be done? Why, 
obviously with a mirror ! " Signor Garcia, 
without loss of time, ordered the little mirror 
and everything else which he wanted, and 
waited in the greatest excitement till they 
were delivered. At last they came, were put 
together, and the trial made. With great good 
fortune he got the right angle at the very first 
attempt, and looked on the glottis. For the 
general reader it may be explained that the 
glottis is that delicate mechanism situate 
inside the larynx (or Adam's apple, as it is 
more commonly called), by the vibrations of 
which the voice is produced. 

So dumfounded was the maestro at what 
he had seen that he sat down aghast for 
several minutes. On recovering from his 
amazement he gazed intently for some time 
at the glottis, and the changes which it pre- 
sented to his eye while the various tones 
were being produced. At last he tore him- 
self away and promptly wrote a description 
of what he had seen, and this was read by 
him before the Royal Society. 

_- 1 l •_! 1 1 l >.l l \\\ 




Among Manuel Garcias musical friends in 
London of years gone by were Maria, the 
famous operatic tenor, and his wife, Grisi, no 
less celebrated as a singer. Grisi was an 
indefatigable worker, and would practise her 
singing regularly every day without fail, whether 
it was during the opera st son or the vacation, 
Mario, on the other hand, would never 
by any chance practise on days when he 
was not actually going to sing in public. 
When, however, he was going to sing in the 
evening he would begin practising his favourite 
exercise from the duet between Almaviva and 
Figaro in "The Barber of Seville," "All* 
idea di quel metallo " : — 

from at once going in and examining the 
article dt veriu closer, 

M What is the price?" 

u A hundred pounds." 

" A good deal to charge, is it not ? No 
matter, send it up, please." 

Signor Garcia tells a similar reminiscence, 
Mario had decided upon giving a wonderful 
luncheon to a large party of his friends. The 
total cost may be imagined from the fact that 
he paid eighty pounds for some dessert and 
other light extra delicacies for the table, 
which were sent over specially from Paris. 
When all were assembled Grisi suddenly 
said, " Oh, it is too hot to have it here. Let 


Ec - co pro - pi ■ zia, che in sen mi seen 

If the voice was satisfactory in this pas- 
sage he would not trouble to do any further 
practice. Mario was an Italian count, and 
gave up the dignity 
of his position for the 
sale eofacareerwhich 
he loved. But his 
education and re- 
finement came out in 
the artistic render- 
ings with which he 
endowed his sing- 

Mario and Grisi 
were both of them 
rather — shall one 
say ? — u n econo- 
mical Though they 
made in their time 
an enormous fortune, 
they managed to get 
rid of so much that 
Mario in his later 
years had to be con- 
tent with a very dif- 
ferent mode of life. 
As an instance of 
how they made the 
money fly, Mario 
when out for a walk 
w T ould see in a shop 
window a beautiful 
little statuette, or pic- 
ture, which took his 
fancy. Nothing 
could keep him 




From n Photo, by C Bergamasco. Lent by M.uio\ (Un^-lit un 

ooj f 

us drive out to Richmond and have lunch 
there. It will be far more pleasant/' No 
Sootier said than done, for Mario at once 

ordered a number of 
carriages to accom- 
modate the entire 
party. A telegram 
was sent on in ad- 
vance, .so that on 
their arrival at Rich- 
mond another mag- 
nificent lunch was 
awaiting them ; while 
Mario, without a 
thought, left behind 
at his own house this 
t wo - h u nd red - g u i n ea 
luncheon to waste 
its sweetness on the 
desert air, and pro- 
bably be thrown 
away by the ser- 

Of all the hun- 
dreds of pupils who 
passed through the 
hands of Sign or 
Garcia, none 
achieved greater 
fame than Jenny 
Lind, When first 
Jenny Lind came to 
the maestro and 
wished to com- 
mence lessons with- 
out delay, the 




maestro, upon hearing her sing, said, " Your 
voice needs a long and complete rest before 
I can possibly take you." 

"But, mon Dieu, how can I wait? Will 
you not take me at once ? " 

" No ; I cannot ! " 

" I implore you ! " 

"Non- c'est impossible. Go away and 
rest. Come back in a month, and then we 
will see I " 

When Jenny Lind came back the maestro 
was still obdurate, * ( No, you need further 
rest ; the voice is better already, but it is 
still too soon to commence our studies. Be 
patient for another month and then come 
once more," Jenny Lind, nearly wild with 
impatience to start 
work, waited for four 
endless weeks, and 
then, at the very mo- 
ment the stipulated 
time was over, came 
immediately to the 
maestro. This time 
all was well, and 
Jenny Lind's train- 
ing commenced 
under Signor Garcia, 
with what result 
everyone knows. 
Allusion has already 
been made to the 
fact that during her 
lessons the maestro 
had only to call atten- 
tion to any mistake, 
and point out how it 
could be rectified, 
for it to be at once 
corrected and never 
repeated. Moreover, 
the maestro makes 
the interesting re- 
mark that he never 
heard Jenny Lind 
sing even a hair's 
breadth out of tune, 
so perfect was her 
musical ear. Jenny 
Lind possessed the 

power of taking jiains to an infinite degree, 
and this, added to her exquisite voice, 
which had been perfectly trained, enabled 
her to overcome every obstacle which crossed 
her path, and reach that lofty position which 
was retained until her retirement from an 
active musical life. 

Some years after Jenny Lind had retired, 
and shortly before her death, she sang at a 

by Google 


From a. Photo, by C. K. Fry and Son, Lent by her hustvitid, 
Otto Guldschmidt. 

charity concert, at which a certain Mme. 

M had offered her services as pianist. 

Mme. M — was asked to accompany 
Jenny Lind, was shown the music, saw it w r as 
very simple, and said she would be only too 
delighted. But, simple though the music 
was, Jenny Lind came up to her and 
explained exactly how a certain easy little 
passage was to be played in order to have 
the whole effect as artistic as possible. They 

were, Mme. M afterwards said, little 

things which with the ordinary ear would go 
unnoticed, yet to a true artist like Jenny 
Lind they made just the whole difference. 

Many are the stories told of Jenny Lind's 
triumphs during her career. The people 

quite lost their heads 
over the singing of 
the " Swedish night- 
ingale.' 5 In one town 
Jenny Lind was sere- 
naded at the hotel 
by some of her ad- 
mi rer s. B e i ng 
touched at such a 
pretty compliment, 
Jenny Lind walked 
out on to the balcony 
to show her appreci- 
ation. Unfortunately 
for her, a valuable 
shawl slipped from 
her shoulders and 
fell into the street 
below. This was 
promptly seized by a 
dozen eager hands, 
anxious to obtain 
souvenirs of the occa- 
sion. In a moment 
it was torn to as 
many pieces, each of 
which in its turn 
formed the centre of 
an eager group of 
memento - hunters. 
The compliment was 
doubtless most flat- 
tering, but certainly 
it had drawbacks, 
used to tell many 
under Signor Garcia, 

Antoinette S terl i ng 
stories of her studies 

When Miss Sterling first went for her lessons, 
the maestro was so carried away with the 
voice of his new pupil that he could not 
bring himself to keep her to exercises, as 
he did in the case of others. Almost at 
once he began taking her through all the 
Italian operatic rdler* One day his pupil 




was struggling to execute a particularly 
difficult phrase, and at last burst out crying. 
u You ought not to give me these songs until 
I have mastered the exercises properly." 
" You J re quite right, 1 * answered the maestro, 
and at once took her back again to the 

The maestro would often write elaborate 
cadenzas for his pupil to sing in her various 

operatic and oratorio arie. 
he gave my mother a very 
difficult cadenza to sing at 
her next oratorio engage- 
ment, a performance of 
the "Stabat Mater/' 
Antoinette Sterling did 
not herself care for the 
cadenza, but nevertheless 
sang it, as her master de- 
sired* When next time 
his pupil came for her 
lesson Signor Garcia was 
quite angry with her. 
"Why did you not last 
night sing the cadenza 
which I gave to you ? n 
Miss Sterling replied that 
she had done so. 

i( Non ! Non ! That 
was not mine which you 
sang! It was some 

" Why, how can you 
know anything about it, 
maestro ? You never said 
anything about coming to 
hear me." 

" No matter, I 
there, and I say it 
not my cadenza \ " 
showed the maestro 


one occasion 

Ftihi) :i iiorLi.iil -bust hy J. Dilfh:itlt, 
Fholo* by C, E, Fry and Son. Lent 
IuiJmiuI. Ollu OulcUd'uiiklt, 


However, his pupil 
her copy of the aria, 

with the cadenza marked down just as he had 
given it to her, and the maestro, seeing this 
was so, at once said that he would write 
another, as he did not like the one which he 
had given her* 

In compressing the life memories of 
Manuel Garcia within the limits of a maga- 
zine article one is faced by the difficulty of 
selection from material which is nearly in- 
exhaustible. For has not the maestro 
enjoyed the friendship of practically all the 
greatest musicians of the last eighty years ? 
Few, indeed, must be those in the front rank 
during that period whom Signor Garcia has 
not at least met. 

Agafti, in speaking of his seventy- five years' 
career as a teacher of singing, it is almost as 
hard to know whom to mention and whom 


to exclude from among his many hundred 
pupils. In giving, therefore, the following 
brief list of some at least who have studied 
with the maestro one must almost neces- 
sarily commit unintentionally some glaring 
"sins of omission " — a phrase, by the way, 
which was explained by a schoolboy in an 
examination paper recently as "sins we forget 
to commit/' 

In addition to Jenny Lind, the list of 
Signor Manuel Garcia ; s 
pupils includes such 
names as Stockhausen 
(the famous "Lieder" 
singer and teacher of 
George Henschel), Hen- 
riette Nissen (afterwards 
Hme. Salomon), Bussine 
(of the Opera Comique, 
professor of singing, and 
teacher of Due, the tenor 
of the Grand Opera, 
Paris) ; Jules Burbot, 
chosen by Gounod to 
create the part of Faust, 
also professor at the Con- 
servatoire ; Charles 
Bat ail le, chosen by Meyer- 
beer to create the bass 
part in " L'Etoile du 
Nord," and also famous 
for his singing in the 
" Seraglio " of Mozart ; ' 
Antoinette Sterling, 
CharlesSantley, Catherine 
Hayes, Miss Orridge, Miss 
Mac in tyre, Miss Agnes 
Larcom, and Marie Tem- 
pest, Finally, Signor 
Manuel Garcia taught Mme. Marches!, who can 
number among her pupils, in addition to her 
daughter Blanche, such famous artists as lima 
de Murska, Tremelli, Krauss, d'Angri, Frau 
Gerster, Emma Nevada, Sybil Sanderson, 
Francis Saville, Ada Crossley, Suzanne 
Adams, Emma Eames, Calvtf, and Melba. 

This list of those who have been trained 
in the famous Garcia method of singing, 
either directly from Signor Garcia himself or 
indirectly from teachers who have them- 
selves been pupils of the maestro, comprises 
some of the greatest singers and teachers of 
the last sixty years. How, therefore, can 
these memories be brought to a more fitting 
close than with the enumeration of the above 
names? Surely this bare record is in itself 
a far greater tribute than any mere words of 
praise could be to the grand career of 
Manuel Giiiqii fi a I from 



by her 

The Trouble-Shooter's Wooing. 

By Francis Gardiner. 



ALLOA! Halloa!' 1 
u I hear you," 
"I reckon, Central, this 
line's all right now, By the 
way j there's a question I 
want to ask you. Has the 
time arrived when you arc disposed to take 
pity upon a forlorn individual who is now 
sitting on a telephone pole up on the Black 
Foot trail ? * 

The little operator flushed a rosy red, but 
there was no one there to see except the cat, 
and he didn't mind. 

" I am coming in now/' continued the 
voice, 4 * to wait for more trouble, but as it's 
three miles you 
will have time to 
think over what 
I said and have 
your answer 

" Read Rule 
37," replied the 
operator, as she 
"cleared out" 
the line. 

1 1 was s i x 
months since the 
good - looking 
young "trouble- 
shooter " — as a 
mender of tele- 
phone lines is 
called— had first 
asked her to 
marry him. That 
was on a winter's 
day when they 
were alone in the 
little central 
office. Had he 
told her less or 
had he told her 
more, the answer 
she gave him 
might have been 
a different one. As it was, she said : " You 
ask me to marry a man who is a graduate of 
Harvard College and hasn't made any more 
of himself than to become a trouble-shooter. 
Not that fixing telephone lines isn't perfectly 
honourable and all that, but you might have 
done so much and you haven't/' 

Digitized by Google 


The man flushed slightly. " If I choose 
to be a trouble-shooter, why should my 
education prevent ? iy he replied, " Must 
every man sj>end his life hunting the almighty 
dollar or writing useless books, because he 
has been given a piece of parchment with a 
lot of Latin on it? i"m living my life in my 
own way, There are things which are just as 
honourable as ambition, I reckon." 

" I don't want you to change your way of 
living on my account," she said, coldly. 

He was persistent, and within a week 
repeated his question, his answer being a 
second refusal, accompanied by the state- 
ment, made with a touch of anger: "And 

more than that, 
I don't want 
you ever to men- 
tion this subject 
in my presence 

" Very well," 
he answered; 
"but under- 
stand, I don't 
give you up, J> 
and before 
she could reply 
he was gone, 
" I won't men- 
tion it in her 
presence," he 
said to him- 
self, * * b u t 
she'll hear me 
just the same/' 
and the trouble- 
shooter grinned 
as he picked 
up his kit 
and started on a 
tramp down the 

The next day, 
as he sat on a 
forty -foot pole 
five miles up in the hills, with a blizzard 
howling around him, he shouted into his 
portable telephone, " Not being in your 
presence, Miss Jones, permit me to ask you 
to name the day," 

While she resented them at first, she came 

to enjoy the., attentions of the young man 




whom she described to herself as her " long- 
distance suitor," and she took secret satis- 
faction in the thought that probably no other 
girl in the State of Colorado was receiving 
an average of five proposals a day. She even 
began to keep a diary, in which she made 
such entries as : " Four to-day. One via 
the Bald Rock ranch line, one from the 
Clear Water toll line, and two by the way 
of Harding's Gulch." 

To the many proposals the little operator 
had adopted a stereotyped form of reply, 
when, indeed, she deigned to take notice of 
them. Her answer was always : " You'd 
better read Rule 37." She had been 
promptly informed that her suitor had for- 
gotten Rule 37, and thereupon she mailed 
him a copy. It read : " Linemen and other 
employes who have occasion to use the lines 
of the company in the course of their occu- 
pation must not interfere with the service to 
subscribers by indulging in idle and un- 
necessary conversation." 

And the very next day the trouble-shooter, 
while repairing a break where the lines 
skirted the base of Big Bear Mountain, 
remarked, "I am about to ask a question, 
Miss Jones, and it does not violate Rule 37, 
because it is neither idle nor unnecessary." 

On the hot summer afternoon when the 
proposal came from the Black Foot trail, few 
people seemed to have occasion to use tele- 
phones, and the operator, leaving the switch- 
board, stood looking out of the window, 
singularly enough her glances being directed 
towards the road down which the trouble- 
shooter would come after his three-mile walk. 
The little building which served as central 
office stood just above the river-bed, now a 
dry and parched coulee. The green-clad 
slopes of the mountains rose sharply from 
the valley, ragged rows of houses clustering 
at their bases. The yellow strip of sand 
and gravel wfiich marked the former course 
of the stream could be seen for several miles 
until it disappeared in the hills. Only 
in case of cloud-burst or heavy freshets did 
the water flow down the valley, for ten miles 
above a towering dam of cut stone, arched 
and buttressed to resist the pressure of the 
imprisoned water, held in check the precious 
store, that it might be distributed through the 
irrigating ditches to make the desert blossom 
like the rose. 

The click of a falling shutter on the switch- 
board brought the operator back to her chair. 
Before she could ask the customary question 
a voice, tense and strained with excitement, 
fell on her ear, saying, " There's been a cloud- 

DiqilizMoy Kj*( 

burst above Big Bear, and the water's coming 
down like Niagara, Notify everybody and 
do it quick. Do you understand ? " 

" I understand," the operator replied. 

She knew what to do, for wherever in the 
valleys the familiar blue bell marked the 
location of a telephone office the lesson was 
one always learned by operators. When a 
cloud-burst sent great masses of water tearing 
over the dams and sweeping down the old- 
time river-courses, many lives might hang by 
the wire thread of the telephone lines. The 
little operator herself had once seen a wall 
of water go plunging and swirling by, 
changing the dry and sun-baked coulee or 
gulch in a twinkling to a raging torrent. 
Farther down the valley were places where 
the ranch-houses stood perilously near the 
course of the flood. At other points the old- 
time* river-bed was sometimes used as a 
carriage road. Children often played in the 
sand in this fascinating little valley. 

White to the lips, with a voice which 
trembled despite her efforts to keep it steady, 
the operator rang up house after house. She 
wasted no words and she used none of the 
phrases made familiar in stories. Nobody 
was advised to run for life. 

"There's been a cloud-burst and the 
water's coming." 

That was enough. She worked rapidly, 
and soon had reached every house but one. 
In desperation she rang call after call. 
Minutes seemed like hours and still there was 
no response. Perhaps they were all safe in 
the hills. Perhaps — the operator shuddered 
and again pressed the ringing key. As she 
waited, she was conscious of a humming 
sound, like that made by the wind in the 
wires, a sound which grew louder, changing 
to a murmur and then a dull roar. Would 
they never answer? 

And then a woman's voice said : " Sorry 
to keep you waiting. I " 

" Run, run ! " cried the operator. " The 
water " 

"Johnny, mammy wants you," cried the 
voice at the other end of the wire, and the 
operator knew that her work was done. It 
was then that she thought for the first time 
of her own safety. 

While the wires were carrying their warn- 
ing messages down the valley, a young man 
was walking rapidly along the Black Foot 
trail. On his back was slung a portable 
telephone. The spurs used in pole-climbing 
clanked at his side. Attached to his belt 
were coils of wire, insulators, a hatchet, and 
various smaller tools, together with a coil of 




small rope. He rounded a spur of the hills 
and came in sight of the town, nestling in 
the valley below. Then a sound borne faintly 
on the summer breeze attracted his attention, 
and he turned towards the opening in the 
hills in the direction of the dam + He could 
follow with his eye for several miles the 
yellow streak of the caulk- The sand 
glistened in the sun as it stretched to the 
point where the converging hills hid it from 
view, As he looked, however, there burst 
into his range of vision a tumbling, boiling 
mass of white-flecked water, sweeping 
steadily down the valley. And as the sound 
came to him unimpeded by intervening hills, 
the low murmur changed to a roar. A glance 
showed him that this was no ordinary cloud- 
burst. That wall of madly rushing water was 
high enough to reach the buildings in the 
settlement below, and, perhaps, sweep the 
frail structures from their foundations. 

The young man started running down the 
rough mountain road, his eyes fixed upon 
the telephone buildings which, of all those in 
the town, was nearest the caulk. As lie ran 
he saw that the people in the village had 
taken the alarm and were running towards 
the hills. 

Soon those who had started from the 
side of the caulk which he was approach- 
ing began to pass him, but he gave them no 
heed, his eyes being fixed upon the little 
yellow house above the bank. The doorway 
had been in sight from the moment he started 
on his plunge 
down the hillside, 
and no one had 
left the building. 
He reached the 
foot-bridge above 
the c&ulk, and as 
he crossed it the 
roar of the coming 
waters boomed 
with a sound like 
thunder A hun- 
dred yards up the 
declivity on the 
farther side he 
plunged and 
pushed open the 
door of the build- 
ing just as thelittle 
operator turned 
from the switch- 
board with the 
mother's cry, 
u Johnny, mammy 
wants you," ring- 

ing in her ears. " Quick ! " he shouted, 
M We must get out of this," 

Without waiting for a reply, he grasped 
the girl's arm and pushed her through the 
door But it was top late to reach the hills. 
The avalanche of water was in full view and 
nearly upon them. It would sweep over the 
strip of gently rising ground between them 
and the hills. It would tear the neighbour- 
ing buildings into fragments. He cast one 
hopeless glance around, saw a desperate 
chance, and took it. 

Close at hand was the pole line, and into 
the nearest pole to which ran the wires from 
the building he had driven rows of spikes to 
form a ladder. That was when he was a 
11 tenderfoot w and new at the business of 
pole-climbing, and because this particular 
pole was one he was often called upon to 

" The pole I " he shouted, the sound of his 
voice being nearly drowned in the din of the 
approaching flood. "It is our only chance." 

She understood, and with his help began 
to ascend. It seemed to him that their pro- 
gress was painfully slow, and he was conscious 
that he was measuring the distance by count- 
ing the spikes. Five feet, ten feet, fifteen 
feet ; then he threw his arm around the girl, 
pinning her against the wood and himself 
gripping with hands and feet. The stout pole 
bent and shook, the water swirled and eddied 
just below their feet, and they were drenched 
by the flying spume. He caught a glimpse 







of the little house 
swung round, and 

as it turned half over, 

disappeared under the 

rusliing water, to send to the surface pieces 

of board and scantling, 
of the water had passed 
panion to climb still 
reached the cross-arms, 
stout strap, the "safety" 

When the first rush 

he helped his conv 

higher until they 

He took the long 

which linemen use 

in their work, and passed it round her waist 
and the pole, After that there was nothing 
to do but wait. The pole was on the edge 
of the rapidly running water, and he knew 
that it was firmly embedded in the rock and 
securely guyed. Had it felt the full force 
of the flood it would have snapped like 
a pipe-stem. As it was, with each of the 
slow passing minutes his faith in its strength 

In the light of the dying day he looked 
about him. A few of the houses which stood 
nearest had disappeared. The water ran 
fiercely through the shattered lower portions 
of others. On the hills above he could see 
the townspeople, and he wondered if they, in 
their turn, had detected the two figures cling- 
ing to the pole. 

The girl at his side was 
very pale, and now that 
the excitement of those 
few wild moments was 
over he could feel that she 
trembled. It came to him 
that he must do something 
to lessen her terror. He 
began to talk. Afterwards 
he had very little idea 
what he said in those first 
few moments. He dimly 
remembered that he made 
sorry jokes about the op- 
portunity their position 
gave them "to see the 
show," and the girl 
1 augh ed hy st eri cal 1 y. Then 
the sun dropped behind 
the western hills, night 
settled quickly over the 
valley, and the yellow 
water turned to black. 
He remembered that 
during the long, dark hours 
which followed he talked a 
good deal about himself 
*It stood out in his recollection that he had 
tried to think of a more interesting topic of* 
conversation^ but somehow had failed, and 
all the time his words were accompanied by 
the sound of the water us it moaned and 
gurgled around their frail support, so that he 

was not sure that she had understood his 
words. Towards morning he saw that the 
flood was abating. Then came the first 
streak of dawn, and with the increasing 
light he saw r below them the water-soaked 

News of the damage done by the cloud- 
burst came from far and near. It had 
broken the record of the flood of ten years 
before in the height of the water and the 
great distance to which it made itself felt 
There were stories of houses swept away, of 
horses and cattle drowned, of the narrow 
escapes of many persons, but no human lives 
were lost. The little operator's warning cry, 
"The water's coming," had in a number of 
instances been the means of robbing the 
flood of its victims, and the fact that her 
switchboard was connected with the general 
telephone system in the State had been the 
means of giving the warning far beyond the 
immediate neighbourhood. 

A week later the little telephone operator, 
sitting before the new switchboard to which 
the wires had been connected, answered the 


call of the trouble-shooter, who was making 
the last of his repairs, She had not seen him 
since in the early morning he had carried her 
down the pole and across the flood swept 
area to the dry ground beyond. Despite her 
protestations (ha&lsftciiwas able to return to 





work, she had been forbidden to do so until 
a week had passed, Now she waited, won- 
dering if the trouble-shooter would say, with 
the old familiar touch of laughter in his 
voice, "Not being in your presence, Miss 
Jones, permit me to ask you to name the 

But he did not say it then or in the days 
which followed, and woman's quick per- 
ception told her that s having saved her life, 
the trouble-shooter would not appear to take 
advantage of the fact. Then one night she 
wrote In her diary : " I shouldn't dare to say 
it if he was in the room, but I reckon I can 
by telephone." 

So it happened 
that when the 
trouble - shooter 
called " Central " 
from the Big Bear 
Mountain line, just 
as he was about to 
say good -bye, the 
little operator re- 
marked : — 

"If you want to 
ask a question you 
needn't mind Rule 


What else was 
said was overheard 
only by the switch- 
board, which does 
not reveal its secrets. 
In the evening as 
they walked above 

the couiie f again dry and sun-baked, he said, 
"And so you are willing to marry a trouble- 
shooter after all ? " 

" If you had told me in the first place 
that you became a trouble-shooter because 
the doctor said you must live out of doors 
or die — ~* 

" I might have told you," he said, with a 
laugh, *' but you might not have believed it. 
After five years in the open I have hard work 
sometimes to make myself believe that I was 
once the despair of the doctors, and then," 
he added, " somehow I wanted you to take 
me in my capacity as trouble-shooter/* 

" Well, you see, 
1 didn't," said the 
little operator, " be- 
cause you told me 
all about yourself." 
"I told you?" 
he inquired. 

" Yes," she said ; 
"when we sat all 
night on that tele- 
phone pole, man- 
like, you talked five 
hours about your- 

"I hope the 
story was interest- 
i ng," said the 

11 1 wouldn't 
have had it dif- 
ferent/ 5 replied 
the little operator. 


by Google 

Original from 

Trips About Town. 

By George R. Sims. 

HERE are two quarters of 
London in which, wander 
when and as often as I may, 
I never fail to find an interest 
that fascinates me. One is 
the alien quarter of the East, 
and the other is the alien quarter of the 
West. But whereas the romance of the 
Ghetto has its roots deep down in the ancient 
history of the world, the romance of Soho 
springs from the soil of modern civilization. 
In the East the " strangers in the land " are 
all of one race, speak a common jargon, and 
are bound together as a community by a 
common faith. In the alien land of the 
West all races and all faiths are represented, 
and there is a confusion of tongues that gives 
us Babel once again in the very centre of the 
throbbing heart of the British Empire. 

It has been said that "there is no district 
in London so comparatively unknown as that 
portion of West London which is comprised 
within the area of Soho." At the first blush 
this statement will be doubted by many 
Londoners ; but it is perfectly true. To 
know Soho Square, with its famous business 
houses, to walk by way of Dean Street or 
Wardour Street to Shaftesbury Avenue or 
Leicester Square, is to learn no more of the 
real Soho than one would learn of the 
seething alien land of the East by walking 
from Aldgate Station to the Pavilion Theatre. 
You may take either walk any day of the 
week and learn scarcely anything to suggest 
that a foreign land lies around you. But turn 
off the main artery and wander in and about 
the side streets, and England has vanished. 
Everywhere your ears are saluted by un- 
familiar words, your eyes by unfamiliar 
sights. A moment previously you were in 
your own country — your foot was on your 
native heath. Now you are apparently in a 
country afar off. You are the stranger in a 
strange land, and, if you asked a simple 
question of a passer-by in the English 
language, it is quite possible that he would 
not understand you. 

Soho is a land of startling contrasts. 
Contrast is its dramatic note. There wealth 
and poverty look at each other across the 
way. There honest drudgery and vicious 

Vol. xxix.-36. 

pleasure are next-door neighbours. There 
hunger gazes from morning to night on a 
feast of Tantalus. There, in the centre of 
London's gaiety and luxury, whole families 
crowd and pack together under conditions 
which are only equalled in the worst slums 
of Poverty Land. There are houses where 
once dwelt rank and fashion, now let out in 
single rooms to poor foreign governesses, 
broken-down show folk, political refugees, 
foreign undesirables, anarchists on whose 
heads there is a price, and ruined gamblers. 

Through the streets of the modern Babel 
pass all day long the seekers for souls, and 
here again is contrast. For in the streets of 
Soho you may see the brave Sisters of the 
West London Wesleyan Mission speeding on 
their errand of mercy to the poor English ; a 
Rabbi seeking out his poor among the Jews ; 
the priests of St Patrick's carrying consola- 
tion and succour to the Irish hawkers and 
labourers who still remain, but are dwindling 
in number year by year ; a French pastor and 
an Italian priest visiting the sick and needy ; 
and a Salvation lass making her way through 
a crowd of men loafing in front of a den 
which is a meeting place for anarchists by 
day and a gambling hell at night. 

Soho takes its name from a hunting cry, 
for Soho was in times gone by a Royal 
hunting ground. It is a hunting ground 
to-day, but no longer Royal. It is here that 
the detective police are constantly engaged 
in running to earth the desperadoes of 
Europe who have made it their place of 
refuge and earned for it the character of an 
international Alsatia. 

This is Soho, the land of contrasts This 
is the land that we are about to enter and see 
for ourselves. I^et us start by way of Wardour 
Street, which is its English frontier. 

Even on the frontier the note of contrast 
strikes us. In the centre of Wardour Street 
stands St. Anne's Church. The churchyard 
is high above the street, and you climb to it 
by steps. The elevation is stated to be due 
to the number of people who were buried 
there. But to-day the churchyard is laid out 
as a recreation ground. There is a drinking 
fountain, and there are garden seats. 

It is a dill! morning, and the rain of the 




night has left London wet and woebegone as 
my artist confrere sets out with me for this 
trip to Soho. The churchyard is damp and 
dispiriting, but there are two or three children 
round the drinking fountain, and on a garden 
seat sits a solitary tramp. 

The tramp is busy, and from a discreet 
distance we watch his proceedings with some 
curiosity. He has a dozen crumpled pieces 
of paper, which he is smoothing out and 
apparently sorting. 

At the first step we have taken in Soho 

heaps and the refuse boxes of the restaurants. 
He has a market for them. 

One pocket of his ragged overcoat bulges 
with scraps of iron, another is stuffed with 
newspapers, and he has a wallet. From a 
capacious inner pocket — he carries all his 
wardrobe on his back for convenience' sake 
— the neck of a bottle protrudes, He is 
reticent about the bottle— frank concerning 
everything else* 

Behind him is a monument to a monarch. 
This rag-picker of London is at least as 


we have found the sharp contrast which is 
typical of the district. The tramp, who as a 
matter of fact is a rag-picker, has spread out 
his stores upon the seat, He has been sort- 
ing out the pieces of " silver paper/ 1 as he 
calls them , in which packets of tobacco are 
wrapped. His business is to gather together 
the discarded wrappers and get what living 
he can by selling them. 

But all is fish that comes to his net, and 
so on the seat we find a piece of newspaper 
on which are a dozen lumps of dirty sugar. 
These, he explains, he has found in dust- 

happy as the King beneath whose graven 
record he sits. The tablet informs us that 

Near this place is interred 


Who died in this Parish, 

Dec. Xllh, MDCCLVL, 

immediately after leaving 

the King's Bench Prison 

by the benefit of the Act of Insolvency, 

in consequence of which 

he registered his Kingdom of Corsica 

for the use of his Creditors, 

King Theodore on his release took a chair 
to the Portuguese Ambassadors. The 




Ambassador was not in, and the monarch 
had not the sixpence the chair-man demanded 
as his fee. So Theodore was carded to the 
house of a tailor in Chapel Street, So ho, who 
took pity on him and let him have a room. 
But the King 
fell sick the 
next day and 
died at the 
tailor's three 
days later. An 
oilman, one 
Wright, of 
Com p ton 
Street, paid for 
the K ing's 
funeral, and 
Walpole wrote 
the epitaph 
beneath which 
we have found 
a London rag- 
picker sorting 
his dust - bin 
sugar and his 
"silver" to- 
bacco paper. 

The rag- 
picker has a 
sense of 
humour When 
he tells me that 
he hasn't seen 
a shilling for 
weeks, and I 
reply that I can 
tell him where < s 
he can find a 
sovereign, he 
smiles and jerks 

" You mean there/ 1 he says, 
read that bit many a time." 

A sharp turn out of Wardour Street and 
the frontier is passed, A moment ago our 
eyes rested only on English names, and only 
English words fell upon our ears. Now the 
names over the shops are all foreign, the 
words in the shop windows are foreign, and 
Babel has begun, French, Italian, German, 
Yiddish, Swedish, Dutch, Arabic, Egyptian, 
Turkish, Greek- — all are mixed up in the 
brouhaha of chatter that mingles day and 
night with the clatter of the traffic in the 
main thoroughfare hard by, You need only 
look at the little crowd gathered round an 
open shop door to listen to a gramophone in 
order to see how varied is its composition. 

There you can see the Italian -speaking 



his thumb across his 

"Yes; IVe 

labourer from Switzerland the revolutionist 
from Milan, the macaroni-maker from Naples, 
the French milliner, looking for all the world 
like a Parisian griseffe of old days, the French 
laundress, the sturdy housewife of the Alps 

carrying her 
great bundle 
on her shoulder 
after the man- 
ner of the 
mountain vil- 
lageress, the 
Levantine car- 
pet-seller with 
his fez and his 
slippers, the 
pale, Oriental- 
featured Polish 
Jew from the 
sweating den, 
the German 
waiter out of 
place, and the 
big, broad- 
Belgian rough 
into whose 
occupation we 
need not in- 
quire too 

The record 
of one of the 
great Italian 
baritones is on 
the gramo- 
phone that is 
being shown to 
a customer in 
the shop, and the little crowd is silent in 
seven languages as it listens to the language 
of song. 

You turn from the cosmopolitan crowd 
with the top note of the Italian baritone 
ringing in your ears, and in a moment you are 
in Algeria, Here is an Algerian cafi. One 
glance at the Eastern arrangement of the 
interior and its dark-complexioned occupants^ 
some of them in the headgear of the East, 
and instantly your mental environment 
changes. You think of date palms and the 
hedgerows of cactus, of the silent Arabs 
in their white robes, and the smiling Moors 
in their gay jackets and comic-opera boots. 
Instinctively yon look at the upper windows 
of the Algerian mff, half expecting to see a 
Belle Fatma, sequm-crowned and discreetly 
veiled, looking down upon you. 

There are plenty of Eastern names over the 




shops of Soho — you will find Mahommed Aly 
selling newspapers and tobacco behind a 
neatly-arranged counter, and not disdaining 
the profits of the picture post-card trade. 
You will find names painted above the doors 
of lodging-houses, cheap restaurants, and 
curious caravansaries that will carry you 
back to the u Arabian Nights w of your child- 
hood, and cause you perhaps to wonder if 
among the dark-eyed children playing about 
the streets in a confusion of tongues there 
may not be a young Aladdin with an uncle 
engaged in illegal practices, or a small 
Morgiana who could give valuable informa 
tion concerning certain little secrets of the 

language in business. A very large number 
of them have had considerable experience of 
Paris before they drift to Soho. 

To see the Algerian cafe at its best, evening 
is the time for a visit, You may enter 
without hesitation, for the company, though 
strange, is quiet and by no means suspicious 
of the stranger. For twopence you can get a 
really good cup of Turkish coffee. With 
each cup you receive gratis an excellent 
cigarette. So far are you from London in 
this London street that you will not during 
your stay in the cafe hear one English 
word. You may be fortunate enough to 
see a couple of foreign customers playing 


wood and coal trade, which is the ostensible 
business of the Soho Ali Baba, 

There is an Oriental name above the 
Algerian cafe, and it is a genuine Oriental 
business. The proprietor, who stands behind 
his counter fezzed and smiling, speaks Arabic 
to many of his customers. He speaks French 
fluently, too, and finds it useful, for most of 
the Turks and Egyptians and Levantines 
who visit this establishment have a fair 
acquaintance with the language of the cafes 
chanfants, the gaming ■ houses, and the 
pleasure resorts of the East. The Oriental 
who settles in the neighbourhood of Soho 
does not come there to talk an Oriental 

Digitized byW 

a game with strange cards that will be 
quite unknown to you. The English law 
is observed to the extent that no money 
is played for, but the Eastern custom is 
observed to the extent that not a word is 
spoken during the game. There is no note 
of the French or Italian cafe about this little 
corner of the silent East in the heart of 
the roaring West 

This cafe — an Arab cafe it has been called 
— is open to the daylight and the lamplight; 
the passers-by can see into it, There are 
several cafes in Soho which are hidden from 
the public gaze. They lie either at the ends 
of passages* ot v if they face the street, 




they are thickly curtained from the prying 
gaze of the curious. 

• One of these cafes, in which I have before 
now spent an instructive hour under the wing 
of a friendly habttuh, I entered with my 
eonfrlre^ hoping that he would be able to 
make a sketch of the company unobserved. 
But he incautiously produced a lead-pencil 
and the guests disappeared as if by magic. 
In another of the establishments to which 
my confrire went later on alone, his request 
for a cup of black coffee, made in the English 
tongue, was so unfamiliar to the eur of the 
proprietor, an Italian, that he had to go into 
an adjoining room and interview the company 
in order to find someone who could speak 
English and interpret the order. 

And a stone's throw from this Soho cafe^ 
where English was an unknown tongue, the 
everyday life of London was at its strongest 

Wander which way you will through the 
Hampton Court Maze of streets that make up 
the inner Soho, you come constantly on 
strange sights and scenes. Even where a 
public-house dominates a busy centre it has 
a foreign note. On the windows in white 
enamelled letters are drinks that the ordinary 
Londoner would never dream of asking for, 
of the existence of which many Londoners 
are ignorant. You will see boldly advertised 
as on sale within, Cassis, Byrrh, Fernet Branca, 
and Quin Quina. In many of the houses 
absinthe is as prominent as Scotch whisky. 
Some of the public-houses have passed into 
foreign proprietorship. Italian, French, and 
German names glitter ix\ gold letters beneath 
the lamps of a Continentalized " gin 

Enter one of these houses and you will 
see at once how diversified are the tastes for 
which the proprietor has to cater. Here is a 
house with a great central bar. There are 
five divisions or compartments arranged in 
front of the bar for the Soho customers. 
One compartment is occupied with Italians, 
another is filled with French people, and a 
third with Germans ; a fourth is entirely 
occupied by cabmen from a neighbouring 
rank, typical London Jehus. They are seated 
at the wooden tables smoking their pipes and 
playing dominoes, utterly oblivious of the 
" furriners " who are shrieking and gesticu- 
lating in at least four different languages in 
their immediate neighbourhood. 

It would, perhaps, be an exaggeration to 
say that all nations under the sun are 
specially catered for in Soho, but there are 
not many who would fail to find their 

specialties in the restaurants and shop 
windows of Soho. 

To see the cosmopolitan shopping and 
marketing at its best, Saturday evening, from 
six to eight o'clock, is the time to choose. 

Here is the French butcher's, with all the 
joints trimmed and cut in the French fashion, 
a French proprietor sitting at the money 
desk, and a French assistant serving the 
customers in French. Here is a French 
grocer's — spacious, prosperous, old-esta- 
blished, with all the groceries of Paris 
daintily arranged and set out for the benefit 
of the regular customers of the district, and 
probably several other districts as well. 
There are half-a-dozen French assistants 
attending to the French ladies and house- 
wives and bonnes who are crowding the 

Here is a real Italian establishment with a 
dainty design of electric lights in bunches of 
glass grapes to remind one of Italian gardens ; 
and here you may buy the macaroni of 
Tuscany, Bologna, Genoa, or Naples, and 
wonderful Italian sausage-meats and saveloys 
utterly unknown on English tables. 

Here is a French greengrocer's, where all 
the salads and early vegetables of the season 
are tastefully displayed. You gaze into the 
little window and you see mdche and dande- 
lion and barbe-de-capucin, sorrel, new peas, 
new potatoes, baby carrots, Japanese arti- 
chokes, and above all the green glories, fresh 
and dried, which the heart of la bonne 
cuisintire delights in. It is a shop which in 
a West-end thoroughfare would attract the 
dainty occupants of brougham, victoria, and 
barouche. But Soho takes its succulent 
specialities as a matter of course, and the 
French housewife makes her purchases and 
carries them away with her just as she does 
when she makes her matutinal trip to the 
central market of her native town in her 
beloved France. 

In the matter of charcuterie France stands 
foremost in Soho. But the Italians and the 
Germans are admirably catered for, and there 
are establishments to suit all purses. Th^re 
is even a little shop in Soho devoted to the sale 
of snails and frogs. In the window is a two- 
storied doll's house constructed entirely of 
snails' shells ; live snails cling to the window- 
panes, and snails parsleyed and buttered for 
consumption are laid out in dishes and 
labelled in French, " Snails to take away, ten- 
pence a dozen." 

The frogs are sold on a long skewer, and 
a notice is exhibited in the window of this 
shop that the)' may be had within. Close 


27 8 


by is a little French restaurant where you 
can dine for u Tvvo shillings, wine included." 
Snails and frogs, when in season t are always 
on the bill, and the wandering Londoner, 
curious ih such matters, may read the items 
for himself on the menu exhibited, attrac- 
tively framed, in the doorway. 

Here is a French establishment which 
caters for a Soho client? k. In the windows 
are wonderfully-arranged cold viands, pre- 
pared and decorated in the French style. 

Here is a fowl so tastefully arranged that 
to the Englishman it suggests an evening 
party. Here is a tongue so glazed and 
ornamented that it seems an act of vandalism 
to cut it. Here are cutlets stuffed and 

black truffle and green pistachio to tempt the 
epicure. And here also are dishes of snails, 
tripes a la mode de Caen+ andouilhtte^ piiti 
def&ie graSy and the score or so of delicacies 
dear to the sons and daughters of France. 

Look inside the shop when you have 
feasted your eyes on the contents of the 
window, and you will see the proprietor and 
his wife carving away as fast as they can, and 
a crowd of eager customers waiting to bear 
the delicacies home for the evening meal, 
which will be none the less enjoyed because 
it will be eaten in a little room in a side 
street of Soho with the chorus of Babel out- 
side for its accompaniment. 

There are now in Soho almost as many 


truffled ready for the good housewife to take 
away and cook. H^re are lobsters cut into 
circular slices and arranged and built up with 
something solid, white and wonderful, into 
a trophy that might adorn the wedding cake 
of a wealthy fisherman and a mermaid. 
Everywhere in little white porcelain pots and 
dishes there are mystery and set sauce and 

But there is plenty of catering for the 
foreign housewife who does not wish to invest 
in a whole " piece." Laid out on the counter 
are hams and tongues, and little squares of 
glazed pressed beef, huge sausages of Lyons 
and Bologna, and galantines with plenty of 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

Italian purveyors of food as French. You 
can always distinguish them at a glance. 
The Italian sausages that hang from the 
ceiling and from every convenient hook are 
totally different from the French in bulk and 
make up, and the better-class Italian shops 
generally go in for a big display of chianti in 
the characteristic flasks. There are now also 
in Soho, owing to the Jewish influx^ many 
Kosher purveyors, and here the Hebrew sign 
warns you at once not to look for the French 
and Italian specialties. In the Kosher shops 
the note of colour that distinguishes the 
French and Italian establishments is wanting. 
The Jews of Soho are graver and less fanciful 




in their eating than their Continental neigh- 

When you are wandering round the 
restaurants and the depots for comestibles in 
Soho it is interesting to note how large the 

hatted men who stop to gaie at it is one 
representing the mounted soldiers of the Czar 
riding down the rioters in St. Petersburg* 

I stood with my confrere , while we were 
making our trip t among a group of Italians, 


trade of the kitchen looms in the district 
There are scores of establishments for the 
" placing " of hotel and restaurant employes^ 
and near them there are always shops in 
which ail the requisites of la haute cuisine are 

You will see whole rows of wooden sabots 
laid out. You will see the complete costume 
of the chef in the window. You will see 
large knives for the division of joints and 
all the shining paraphernalia of the pastry- 
cook's art* 

The journals of the Continent meet your 
eye at every turn, and in many of the shops 
the periodicals that give coloured illustrations 
are liberally displayed. The French and 
Italian lt pictures " are the most remarkable. 
Some of them, especially those of the 
Russo-Japanese War, attract crowds all day 
long* But the picture that appeals most 
strongly to the dark-complexioned, brigand - 

and watched their faces as they gazed, and I 
caught a few words they muttered to each 
other. They were words of deep significance, 

Soho is the heart of the revolutionary 
movement in Europe. In the doubtful 
( * clubs" and the closely -curtained crfes of 
some of its side streets the plots are hatched 
that keep the international police busy and 
sometimes send a thrill through the world. 

I have said that Soho is the land of con- 
trasts. You turn out of a seething scene of 
the life and the hurry of to-day and you 
find yourself in a quiet thoroughfare of old 
Queen Anne houses, grimy and dilapidated 
and broken-windowed. At the cellar door of 
one, level with the pavement, sits a cobbler 
at work, just as he might have sat and worked 
in Hogarth's day* A neighbour lingers beside 
him gossiping* A young French girl waits 
for a pair of high bottines which the old 
English cobbler hits just soled and heeled. 





It is a land ot contrasts everywhere and in 
every way. Once it was the home of fashion ; 
now famine hides in its garrets and poverty 
dwells in the mansions of the mighty dead. 
With its theatres and variety palaces it is the 
centre of pleasure ; with its hospitals and 
dispensaries it is the centre of pain. Its old- 
world associations and romances leap to the 
eye at every turn ; at every turn the grim 
realities of the stress of modern gaiety and 
the stress of modern suffering are writ large, 

Carlisle House, which Mrs. Cornel ys made 
famous for her masquerade balls, is now 
St. Patrick's Roman Catholic Church. The 
room which was once the scene of the 
wildest orgies is now a private chapel 
attached to the church, in which young 
women meet for rest and meditation and 
prayer. The room at No. 27, Soho Square, 
ifl which De Quincey slept covered with a 
horse- rug, his head on a pile of law papers, is 
now the benefit club - room of a society of 
Italian cooks and waiters. In Soho, where 
Edmund Kean starved, the Kembles lived, and 
Macready lodged, the foreign variety artists of 
the music-halls now congregate. On the site 
of the Duke of Monmouth's palace stands St. 
Anne's Rectory, and Savile House, in front 
of which George III, was proclaimed King, 

is now the Empire 

Soho's contrasts 
in the life of to-day 
are as great as its 
contrasts with the 
past* It was my 
privilege, in the 
course of my wan- 
derings, to sit in a 
quiet convent par- 
lour with some of 
the good Sisters who 
make it their work 
to bring peace and 
hope into the lives 
of the weary and 
faint - hearted, and 
past that refuge of 
peace for friendless 
woman hood swept 
a gaily bustling 
crowd of pleasure- 
seekers. Across the 
road gleamed the 
myriad lights of a 
great palace of 
variety. Only a few 
bricks and a drawn blind separate a world of 
pleasure from a world of peace, 

Soho is the centre of all that is selfish and 
frivolous in J^ondon life, and it is the centre 
of all that is philanthropic and earnest. 
There are more religious and philanthropic 
institutions here, perhaps, than in any other 
district, and here again is the note of con- 
trast. The Sisters of the Wesleyan Mission 
work side by side with the gentle Sisters of 
the Church and the English, French, and 
Italian-speaking nuns. The clergy of St, 
Anne's have written a book about Soho and 
given credit in it for all the good work accom- 
plished in Soho by the clergy and philan- 
thropists of other creeds* 

Soho is conspicuous in its virtues as in 
its vices. It is famous for its working-girls' 
clubs and its working-boys' homes. It is 
infamous for the clubs that take the name of 
the working man and use it as a cloak for all 
that is the enemy of work. 

It is the most interesting and the least- 
known district in London. You may wander 
in it for weeks and know little more of it 
than you did before you first started to 
explore it. There are people who have lived 
in Soho all their lives and still know only 
that portion of it in which they dwell. 

by Google 

Original from 


HAVE heard it said that you 
never ought to look a gift horse 
in the mouth. If the meaning 
of that is that you ought to 
take everything that's given to 
you, and ask no quest ions, and 
look pleasant, and be grateful, and make out 
that it's just what you have been looking 
for, then all I can say is that that's not my 
opinion. I cannot say much about horses ; 
but about a ticket for a steamer to Margate 
I can say something, because one was given 
me by my friend, William Huggins, not so 
long ago, and if he had kept it to himself 
I should have been obliged. 

** Sam," he said to me, one morning, M IVe 
got something to give you," 

As he is not what you might call of a 
giving sort, I just gave my cigarette a twiddle, 
and I replied, u Have you ? " 

M No humbug," he went on ; and he looked 
me so straight in the face that I suspected him 
more than ever. " Would you like a day at 
Margate ? n 

11 Were you thinking of giving me one ? " 
I asked. "Because, if so," 1 said, "I sup- 
pose you don^t happen to have it in your 
pocket ? n 

" That's where you're wrong " — he took 

Vol. *ttU-— 36. 

out his pocket-book, and out of it he took a 
card and held it in front of him — " because 

I do." 

44 What's that ? " I asked. 

" What I told you," lie answered. " A 
day at Margate." 

44 1 suppose you mean it's a ticket for a 
beanfeast, or something like that?" 

M That's where you're wrong again, because 
its not. If that ticket was yours you might 
go to Margate — and back — any day you 
chose — free, gratis, and for nothing — on a 

"I never have been on one of those 
steamers " — which, at that time, I had not ; 
and I may say, straight off", that I am not 
particularly set on going again. "If that's 
what you're going to give me, hand it over.' 1 

Li One moment." He drew the ticket back. 

II That ticket's worth six shillings ■ you can 
have it for a bob/ 1 

u I thought you said you'd give it me." 

" Letting you have it at a shilling is giving 
it you, considering that, as 1 say, it would 
cost you six." 

"Let's look at it." 

He handed over the ticket as if he was 
afraid I should swallow it, and kept his eyes 

^ffi-MwMiie* up his mind 



that when it did disappear he would see 
where it went to. 

Bird Steamers, Ltd. 




First Class. 
Outward Journey. | Return Journey.* 
•This portion is available for the return journey from 
Margate to London at any time during the Season. 

It was like that — just an ordinary ticket. 
Across one of the corners was written in ink, 
11 Complimentary." I spotted that at once. 

" It didn't cost you anything," I said, " so 
whatever you do get for it is all clear profit." 

" What it cost me is neither here nor there. 
The point is that it would cost you six 
shillings, and I'm letting you have it for one 
— giving it away, I am." 

" Are you ? Then perhaps you'll give it 
away for sixpence ? " 

" Sixpence ! " 

You should have seen his face and heard 
him talk. We had some conversation — 
William Huggins would have kept it up till 
tea-time if I had let him — but the end of it 
was that I got the ticket for sixpence — "a 
fair gift," he called it — though I give you my 
word that that sixpence left my pocket pretty 

When I had got the ticket, the more I 
looked at it the more I grew to like it. 
Before William Huggins showed it me I had 
no more idea of going to Margate than I had 
of going to the moon, but from that time on 
it took fair hold of me. In less than no 
time, as it were, I had made up my mind 
that I would go. But that is my character 
all over ; when I do resolve on a thing I do 
it in less than half the time some fellows 
take. On the Tuesday week after I had 
really got the ticket I decided, finally, that 
go I would, and on the Saturday three weeks 
following I went. 

Having once decided to do the thing, of 
course I did it in style, which again is me. 
What I say is this : either do not do a thing 
at all or else do it properly, in a way that's 
a credit to you and everyone you come in 
contact with. To begin with, I spent a good 
bit of coin in rigging myself out I always 
do hold that a gentleman ought to attire 
himself in accordance with the occasion. 
It is not my wish to enter into private details, 
but I may mention that I bought a pair of 
new brown shoes at five-and-eleven, a straw 
hat at one-and-nine, a tie which was just the 
thing, one of those new-fashioned collars 
which are all the rage — they had not got my 

size, so they let me have it cheap because it 
was a trifle smaller than I usually take, 
and before I had done with it I wished I 
had never had it at all — and a pair of yellow 
dogskin gloves which you could see from 
one end of Cheapside to the other — not to 
go any farther. The governor gave me a 
Saturday off. 

When I got down to London Bridge there 
was a crowd. There was more crushing 
than I care for. A young lady was in front 
of where I was, and if it had not been for 
me there would have been more crushing 
than she cared for ; so that by the time we 
got on board we were quite on terms, as you 
might say, which made the way in which 
she behaved afterwards the more surprising. 

We were fairly off, and I was just begin- 
ning to feel that I should have to thank 
William Huggins for a real good thing, when 
who should come sailing up but my young 
lady. I had been having a look round, and 
had noticed that among a lot of all sorts 
some very nice young ladies were on board, 
but the worst of it was that they all of 
them seemed what you might call attached. 

Until she was quite close I never noticed 
that with her there was a sailor-kind of person 
— he might have been an officer, for all I 
know or care. All I know is that if all 
officers are like him the less I see and hear 
of them the better it will be for both of us. 
Before I could so much as pass a remark 
to her he said to me — though I don't 
suppose he was more than a year or two 
older than I was, and not so very much 
bigger ; from the way he spoke and looked at 
me he might have been everything and every- 
one, and me nothing at all : — 

44 This young lady has lost her purse. Do 
you know anything about it ? " 

It struck me all of a heap. I stared. 

" Lost her purse ? What should I know 
about her purse ? " 

To my amazement she put in her word — 
in a tone of voice and with an air which 
made me bristle : — 

" You were close behind me, and you kept 
pushing, and my purse was there when you 
came, and it was gone when I got on the 
boat, and you had your arm round me all the 

That did set my back up, her talking like 

" Had my arm round you ! I had my arm 
round you to keep the people from pushing, 
as you very well know." 

" You were pushing me yourself." 

"ThCT were pushing behind, and I was 




*" IT &THLTCK MIL At.]. < >F A HfcAF, 

trying my best to keep them from pushing 
you in front, and this is all the thanks I get. 
Where was your purse ? " 

" It was hanging to my belt with my 
chatelaine^ and my chatelaine's gone too." 

An elderly party standing by struck in. 

u That was a risky place to carry a purse 
in a crowd, you know — hanging to your belt/' 

Another elderly party who seemed to he a 
friend of his had his say, 

" Young ladies have got more courage than 
us old men ; I wouldn't carry my purse 
hanging outside my trousers. 1 ' Someone 
laughed. " I expect it got loosened in the 
crush and dropped without your noticing ; it 
don't follow that this young man took it" 

Someone asked behind me ; — 

"Was there anything in your purse, 
miss? T 

"All my money. There was half a 
sovereign in gold, six shillings in silver;, and 
fourpence in copper, besides my ticket, a 
[>acket of hairpins, a looking-glass, and tw r o 
voice lozenges, because of my having a cold, 
and no pocket in this dress ; and whatever I 
shall do I don't know." f- 

Talking about what she had lost started 

her off crying. 
That finished me. 
I can't bear to see 
a woman crying ; 
especially a nice- 
looking girl The 
elderly party who 
had been the first to 
interfere said : — 

"Don't cry, 
missy. We'll have 
a whip round, and 
I dare say between 
us we'll make up 
for what was in 
your purse. I'll 
start with sixpence, 
and this young 
gentleman will start 
with half a crown, 
which, under the 
circumstances, is 
the least he can 

He wink^dj 
though what at is 
more than I can 

"Under what 
circumstances ? " I 
demanded. I did 
not half fancy fork- 
ing up half a crown because a young woman 
said she had lost her purse. My supply of 
cash was strictly limited. However, it cost me 
half a crown. It cast a gloom all over me. 
So much so that when we stopped at Tilbury 
I had as good as half a mind to walk right off 
the boat and go straight home. It would 
have been better for me if I had. 

What cheered me up a little was seeing a 
young lady coming along the gangway whom 
I had met during jny hist holiday at Sancl- 
by-t he-Sea. By the name of Hickman — 
Adelaide Hickman. She made out that 
her father was something large in the cheese- 
monger way quite wholesale. But a lady 
friend of hers who knew her, she told me 
that Mr. Hickman was an assistant in a large 
shop in the West end and got fifty shillings a 
week. I don't blame a young lady for making 
out to what you might describe as a compara- 
tive stranger that her father is something a bit 
bigger than he really is, but that Adelaide 
Hickman carried it too far. When she 
kind of dropped a hint that her mother 
was a sort of a distant cousin to a baronet, 
and that lady friend of hers told me that she 

^^■Ba^FhffHfiffl 11 ^ 8 tbat that 



course, you 

did strike me as strong. Particularly as she 
was so snubby when I mentioned, casually, 
that my mother's great-aunt on her father's 
side was next-of-kin to a captain in the navy. 
She asked me what I meant by next-of- 
kin, and if I was sure I did not mean a 
stoker. Considering what I had had to put 
up with from her tf seemed uncalled for. 

Still, the sight of her, in a manner of 
speaking, cheered me up. So soon as we 
were off again I strolled across. I found 
her looking over the side of the boat across 
the waters with what you might speak of as 
a thoughtful gaze, in an attitude which suited 
her. You could not help noticing that every- 
one was looking, and I do like a girl to stand 
out in a crowd. Perhaps she ran a little to 
seed, being, as she told me herself, five feet 
eleven and three-quarters in what she spoke 
of as her stockinged feet, but I will say this 
for her, that she was handsomely dressed. 
She had on a blue silk dress, w T ith flowers on 
it, and a pink sash, and a white boa which 
reached down to her knees, and a big white 
lace hat with cherries on it, and patent 
leather shoes with buckles, 
expect a young 
lady who is dressed 
like that to put on 
a few airs, 

" How are you, 
Miss Hickman?" 
I said. 

She looked me 
up and down — 
especially down — - 
she being about 
six inches taller 
than I am ; then 
she looked back 
over the side of 
the boat 

** I'm afraid you 
have the advan- 
tage of me. I don't 
remember meet- 
ing you before," 

41 Don't say youVe for- 
gotten Sam Briggs, Miss 
Hickman, after the plea- 
sant time we had together 
last year at Sand- by- 1 he- 

"Mr. Briggs! Oh, 
yes, now you mention 
the name, I do seem to 
have some slight recol- 
lection. I met so many 
gentlemen while I was 

there that it's most confusing, especially 
as I keep running across some of them 
almost every day. Did you go to Switzer- 
land ? " 

" Switzerland ? " Her question took me 
aback — being unexpected- 

" You told me you were going to Switzerland 
for the purpose of climbing some of those 

14 Did I ? Oh— well, I didn't go." 

" I thought you wouldn't, I fancied it was 
only some of your talk* My friend, Miss 
Wheeler — you remember Miss Wheeler; 
young lady with reddish hair — she's men- 
tioned to me more than once that she kept 
catching sight of you Walham Green way." 

Miss Wheeler w T as the young lady who had 
told me a thing or two about her. But I 
didn't say so— not then. 

u Did you spend t he-winter in Italy, as you 
informed me you intended doing, Miss Hick- 
man, along — if I remember rightly — with 
your uncle's sister-in-law ? " 


Original from 


2 »S 

It was her turn to start. 

" I can't say I did — not exactly." 

" Not exactly ? You got no nearer to Italy 
than I did to Switzerland. I see." 

" I don't know what you mean by that, 
Mr. Briggs." Again she looked over the side 
of the steamer. There was silence. Presently 
she went off on another track — while I was 
trying to think of something to say which 
would put her, as it were, in a corner. 

"Are you still in the same line of business ?" 

" I am." 

" Let me see ; if my recollection isn't play- 
ing me a trick, which is a thing it very seldom 
does do, you gave me to understand that you 
were a partner in one of the largest dried 
fruit firms in Europe." 

"Well — that is — a kind of a partner — as. 
it were." 

I could see that she was just going to ask 
what I meant by a kind of a partner, and I 
was beginning to wish that I had left her 
alone and hadn't started her showing off that 
memory of hers, when who should come 
along but the sailor sort of chap who had 
asked me if I knew anything about that 
young woman's purse. He had a pair of 
ticket-clippers in his hand, and as he came 
he kept singing out : — 

"Tickets, please ! All tickets ! " 

I had no reason to love the man ; quite 
otherwise, since he had cost me half a crown, 
to speak of nothing else, yet the sight of him 
just then was a regular relief. I had no more 
idea that it meant more trouble than a babe 
unborn. What 1 wanted was to give the 
conversation a turn. I pulled out the ticket 
which I had got from William Huggins and 
handed it to him as innocent as a lamb. 
He looked at it and he looked at me — 

"What's this?" he said. 

" Can't you see what it is ? I should have 
thought it was plain enough — it's my 'ticket." 

He looked at it again, and then again he 
looked at me. There was something about 
his style I didn't relish ; especially right in 
front of Miss Hickman there. 

"Ain't you made some mistake ?" he said. 

" I don't know what you mean by a mis- 
take," I answered ; because what with his 
sauce and Miss Hickman's icicles — her 
manner had all at once grown simply 
freezing — I was getting soured. " You 
asked me for my ticket, and there it is — and 
I don't know what else you want." 

He never replied. He beckoned to another 
chap, who looked as if he was something 
superior in the sailor line, with a lot of gold 

braid on his cap and brass buttons on his 
jacket. He gave him my ticket, then he 
pointed my way ; they exchanged a few words, 
and then this other chap came up to me. 

" Come this way," he said, very short and 

" Come what way ? " I asked. " What's 
the matter ? What do you want with me ? 
I've given up my ticket ; isn't that enough ?" 

" If you take my tip, young fellow, you 
won't make any fuss, but you'll come when 
you're told ; or — you're not very big — we 
shall have to carry you. We don't often 
have your sort on board these boats, but 
when we do we know how to deal with 

I tell you I felt queer — queerer than I had 
done since I got on board, and that's saying 
a good deal. It seemed that I was in for a 
really pleasant day. Of course, I could not 
help suspecting that there was something 
wrong with that gift horse of a ticket ; but 
what it was I had no more notion than the 
man in the moon. People were gathering 
round and saying things, and looking more ; 
and Miss Hickman was sheering off, as if she 
wished everyone to understand that she had 
no connection with a person of my character, 
and never had had. There was nothing for 
me to do except go with the party with the 
gold braid on his cap ; which I did. He 
took me to a little room on the deck, which 
seemed to be used as a kind of an office. 
The chap with the ticket-clippers came with 
us — he stuck to me closer than I cared for. 
Then another chap dropped in, with more 
gold braid on his cap than the other chap — 
from the way he seemed to fancy himself I 
took him to be the captain, though he had 
got only slippers on his feet. With him came 
another young fellow, in plain clothes and a 
dirty collar — perhaps he was a clerk. Any- 
how, there we were, four against one, and I 
dare say the lightest of them two stones 
heavier than me. The chap who had brought 
me there started off : — 

"Now, my lad" — fancy his calling me a 
lad, and me twenty-one in another nineteen 
months ; that put my back up to start with — 
" I'm going to ask you a few questions, and 
if you'll take some good advice in answering 
them you'll tell the truth— it'll be better for 
you in the end." 

" Of course I'll tell the truth — why 
shouldn't I ? What do you want with me ? 
That's what I should like to know. There's 
enough of you, and you're big enough, I do 

he called 



me, upon my word! — "drop that style, or 
you'll be sorry. What's your name and 
address ? — and mind that it's the correct 

I gave it him ; I am nut ashamed of it. 
The young fellow in the plain clothes wrote 
it down. Then the other chap held out that 
gilt horse of a ticket 

" Where did you get this from ?" 

" I got it from my friend, William 

li bid you? And what might he the 
address of your friend, William Huggins? ?l 

It is an odd thing that, though I have 
known William Huggins, on and off, for a 
good long time, and met him in all sorts of 
places, I have never known where he lived — 
never had the faintest idea. So I told him* 
He smiled — a nasty smile. He looked at 
the others, and they all smiled -nasty smiles. 

prised. And, pray, what did you give your 
friend, Mr, William Huggins, for this — piece 
of paper ? " 

■* Sixpence. u 

11 Sixpence ? J> Again looks at each other ; 
and again smiles, 1 give you my word my 
fingers were all tingling. " That's frank, 
anyhow. You don't seem to have had a high 
opinion of its value, Did you see the word 
1 Complimentary' written across one comer? 1 * 

"Of course I did," 

" Of course you did ; and, of course, you 
know that complimentary tickets are not to 
be bought and sold ; that they're personal ; 
that it's a fraud to deal in them ? ?1 
. M I didn't know anything of the kind," 

" And, of course, you didn't know — since 
it suits you just now not to know anything— 
that this ticket was two years old — since it 
was issued the season before last ? " 


I could have thrown things at them with the 
greatest of pleasure, 

11 It is unfortunate that you should not 
know where Mr. William Huggins lives — 
most unfortunate for you ; but I'm not sur- 

*' Two years old ! " 

As I repeated the words after him I went 
hot and cold. Cold because of the mess 
that I was in ; and hot to think of William 

H *MB9rfft tafti° ld ticket on 



me and calling it a gift horse. If William 
Huggins had been within reach of me just 
then, in spite of everything I would have 
given him a gift horse for himself. 

" I don't know if you've a face like a brass 
door-plate, or if you're only silly ; but I 
should have said off-hand that you were silly 
— trying to bring off an impudent fraud like 
this ; you must have taken us for a pretty lot 
— if it weren't that this man tells me that you 
were accused of robbing a young woman as 
you came on board the boat. That gives 
things a different look. So just you turn 
out your pockets and lefs see what you've 
got on you." 

I had to. I had to lay out all I had on 
me on a little table. Oh, I was boiling ! 
Then he turned to the chap with the ticket- 

" What did you say was in the young 
lady's purse?" 

" She said there was half a sovereign in 
gold, six shillings in silver, fourpence in 
copper, and her ticket, some hairpins, look- 
ing-glass, and voice lozenges." 

"Then if Mr. Briggs did have it he's 
managed to pass it and its contents over to a 
friend, because here is only five and nine- 
pence all told, besides a valuable collection 
of rubbish which is possibly his own — so 
we'll give him the benefit of the doubt The 
first place we stop at is Southend ; fare 
half a crown. Give Mr. Briggs a ticket for 
Southend ; here's the money for it." 

He handed over half a crown of my money, 
and the clerk chap handed me a ticket. No 
one seemed to have noticed that my gift 
horse of a ticket was for Margate, and that, 
perhaps, that was where I wanted to go. 
But after what had happened I did not care 
where I went; Southend would do for me. 
Only when I looked at the ticket they had 
given me I saw it was a single. 

" Here, this won't do," I said. " I want a 

"Not by this boat you don't," said the 
chap with the gold braid. " If you want to 
get back from Southend — and for Southend's 
sake it's to be hoped that you won't stop 
there long — you'll have to get back some 
other way. You may thank your lucky stars 
that, so far, you've had a cheap escape. But 
if you so much as try to set foot on this boat 
again, when we've once got you off it, you'll 
be handed over to the police as sure as you're 
alive, so now you understand. We're not 
far from Southend. You can take yourself 
out of this. Let me warn you that there'll 
be plenty of eyes watching you, and if you're 

not careful there's still plenty of time for you 
to land yourself in the arms of a policeman 
directly we get there. Out with you 1 " 

He opened the door and gave me a shove, 
and out I went. What my feelings really 
were not a creature beside myself can ever 
know. It seemed to me that all the eyes on 
board that boat were fixed on me, as if they 
were saying, " Here's a pickpocket and a 
cheat, and, although up to now he's saved 
himself from a policeman by the skin of his 
teeth, he may get himself locked up yet when 
we reach Southend, and serve him right ! " 
And all because of that gift horse of a ticket. 

So you may picture my sensations when, 
presently, who should I see coming in my 
direction but that young woman who had 
lost her purse ! For a moment, I give you 
my word, I did not know what to do. I had 
never felt like that in all my life before — it 
was most embarrassing. She was not what I 
call bad-looking — though without much style. 
One of those quiet-looking girls, plainly 
dressed, with what always seems to me to be 
a kind of air of reserve — as if they were their 
own society, and liked it. Her eyes were 
right my way as she came along — I fancy she 
had seen me before I saw her — with some- 
thing in them which made me feel as if I 
was not myself at all. I cannot describe it, 
but I had a sort of notion that she was pity- 
ing me. No young gentleman likes to feel that 
a strange young lady is pitying him for nothing 
at all — it is not likely. The more he knows 
his way about, and the better opinion he has 
of himself, the more it goes against the grain, 
I should have asked her what she meant by 
it, had I been up to my usual standard ; but, 
if you'll believe it, just then I seemed to be 
sinking into my shoes. As for looking at 
her — as an ordinary rule I am not a bad 
hand at looking anyone in the face, but just 
then I doubt if I could have given her 
glance for glance not if you had offered 
me a five-pound note, and that although she 
was staring at me as if she never had seen 
such a sight in her life. Past me she sailed, 
so close that she almost brushed against me 
as she went, and all the while she never took 
her eyes from off my face. I did not need 
to look at her to know it — I felt them. Even 
after she had gone she kept screwing her 
head round to look at me. 

"That was a nasty one." 

When she had gone clean out of sight that 
was the remark I heard; and if I could 
believe my senses, it was made to me by a 
young fellow in z red tie and a brown felt hat 
I looked at him, I tell you, sharp. 



" Were you speaking to me ? " I asked. 

It seemed he was. What is more, he 
spoke again, 

" I was remarking to you," he said, " that 
that was a nasty one* She was staring at 
you all over, as if she was trying to make out 
whereabouts you'd stowed that purse of hers." 

It is not often that I change colour, as if I 
were a girl, but I did then. Fancy his having 
the audacity to say to me a thing like that — 
him, whom I had never seen in my life before, 
and who was not more than a half-grown lad. 
I did my best to crush him/ 

"What might you be meaning?" I said. 

He winked — - actually winked ; and he 
grinned, I could have hit him for the 
way he grinned. There was not any crush- 
ing him. 

"You're a fly one! Putting your arm 
right round the girl's waist, so as to get 
a better hold of her purse. And trying 
lo pass off an old ticket as if it was a new 
one, and then facing it out — I never ! I've 
seen a few, but you do beat all," 

I did not answer him. I would not 
demean myself. I walked right straight 
away, taking no more notice of him than 

A SAWnUSf doll" 

if he was a sawdust doll But I would 
have given a trifle to have been all alone with 
him by our two selves. I would have taught 
him manners, if it had taken me all day to 
do it. 

I was still tingling with a wish that I had 
given him just one when we reached South- 
end. I was one of the first off the boat ; I 
could not have stopped on it any longer if it 
had been ever so. Who should take my 
tick** but the chap with the ticket clippers, 
who had made himself disagreeable to me 
more than once already, and he did not lose 
a last chance of doing it again. 

u Don't let's see any more of you," he said, 
at the top of his voice, as I was [Kissing him. 
4t It won't be good for your health if you do,' ? 
I could have said something back to him, 
and done something too, but, of course, I 
had more sense, though you can bet your 
life that it was not with the pteasantest feel- 
ings that I supped upon that pier. All 
thoughts of pleasure were over for me that 
day. I did not want to enjoy Southend, 
I did not want to see anything of it, and 
I never should. Not me. Though I have 
heard that it is as amusing a place as any- 
one could wish. All 
^ I wanted was to get 

straight back to 
town — the sooner 
the better. The next 
train would suit me 
— all the more if it 
was an express. I 
had a sort of haunted 
feeling that my luck 
was off, and that if 
I was not carefut 
worse things would 
happen than had 
hapi>en ed al ready— 
because of that gift 
horse of William 
Muggins's. Good- 
ness knows, I was 
not in any need of 

Thinking of taking 
the shortest cut to 
the railway station, 
not looking either to 
the right or left, I 
put my hand into 
my trouser-pocket to 
make sure that the 
money for my fare 
, w QdflinalfraWs there all right, 
VERSITY OF MffhfeJUt Btart went 



all over me. In that pocket, if my fingers were 
not playing me tricks, there was nothing, nor 
in the other pocket either. Where had I put 
my money ? When that impudent party 
with the gold braid on his cap had taken the 
half-crown for my ticket I had three and 
threepence left — three separate shillings and 
three pennies. I remembered it distinctly. 
Could I have left it on the cabin table ? I 
half turned to go back and see. Then I 
stopped. I was as sure as I was sure of any- 
thing that I had taken up all the things 
which were on that cabin table and put them 
back in my pockets : my money in my trousers, 
my watch in my waistcoat, my pocket book — 
why — my gracious ! my watch was missing 
too, and my pocket-book ! Where was that 
boat ? Already moving off, that was what 
she was doing, and I was a good three 
hundred yards away ; for length that 
Southend Pier does want some beating ! 
If I shouted what would be the use ? Sui>- 
posing she stopped — and it was a thousand 
pounds to a farthing that she would not —it 
would be no good. I knew I had put all 
those things back into my pockets ; if they 
were not there now they had been stolen. A 
nice lot there seemed to have been upon that 
boat ! I thought of the young fellow with 
the brown hat and the red tie; how close 
he had stood up against me. It looked as 
if, while he was accusing me of picking that 
young lady's pockets, he was picking mine. 
The assurance of him — to speak of nothing 
else. And he had talked about my being a 
fly one. What a day I was having ! It 
seemed as if it was going to be a case of 
Shanks's pony home. I began to wonder 
how far it might be from Southend to 
Walham Green, and how long it might take 
to step it — me not being much of a walker at 
any time. Evidently there was going to be 
no riding for me. Not one thing had that 
young fellow in the brown hat and red tie 
left on me — not even a pocket-handkerchief; 
and I had only bought it new the night 
before. He was an artist — he was Ai. When 
he did a thing he did it well. Every one of 
my pockets was empty, except — something 
which was in the outside breast-pocket of 
my jacket. Something hard. I pulled it out. 

" Why, what on earth is this ? " 

If I could believe my eyes — which I hardly 
could— it was a lady's purse ; one of those 
bags made of steel rings. As I was staring at 
it a voice said, as if it were addressing me : — 

" Why, you wicked man, you took it after 
all ! " 

I looked up, and there was that young 

Vol. XXU.-37 

lady in the cloth jacket who had lost her 

" Took it?" I asked. "Took what?" 

I felt all stupid-like ; though she thought 
I was something else. 

"How dare you be so impudent, when 
you had my purse all the time ? " 

Then I understood what she meant. It 
was only natural that she should think it ; 
though that did not make it any pleasanter 
for me. 

44 Is this your purse ? " 

" Of course it is ! You know it is ! Give 
it me at once ! 

There was not any giving ; she snatched it 
from my hand. She opened it, and found it 

" Of course you've taken everything out of 
it ! You dishonest wretch ! " 

" Taken everything out of it, have I ? In 
that case perhaps you'll let me know where 
I've put it, because, as it happens, I have not 
a brass farthing on me, or a brass farthing's 
worth. This does beat anything. I've been 
robbed and plundered of everything I 
possessed, and the thief who did it pops into 
my pocket an empty purse worth perhaps 
twopence, and I'm accused of having stolen 

My words touched her. She eyed me as if 
she could not make up her mind what to 
think, which was certainly no wonder. 

44 Are you sure— honestly — that you did 
not take my purse ? " 

"I'll swear I never saw it in my life till I 
took it out of my pocket half a minute ago ; 
and I'll also swear that I didn't know it was 
there, and that I didn't put it in." 

44 And do you really mean that you have 
been robbed too?" 

44 Of every blessed thing ! " 

I turned my pockets inside out to show 
her. She was still doubtful ; I am not blaming 
her, I am simply stating the facts. There 
was she, staring at me ; and there was I, 
with all my pockets turned inside out, staring 
at goodness alone knows what ; and there 
were the people, passing up and down, look- 
ing at us curious like, as if it would not take 
much to induce them to join in the fun. I 
felt that wild that for a packet of pins I 
would have jumped over the side into the 
water ! Then she said : — 

44 If they really have robbed you of every- 
thing, what are you going to do ? " 

That was a thing to ask ! 

44 That's what I want to know," I answered. 

44 Do you live in Southend ? " 

44 Live ij)fj§quthend ! I never saw it till 




five minutes ago, and if I never see it again 
I shall die happy. * 

" Then where do you live ? " 

"•I live in Walham Green, that's where I 
live — Acacia Villas, Walham Green/' 

" But how are 
you going to get 
to Walham Green 
if you have no 
money and no 

" Walk it* 

11 How ever 
long will it take 


? You'll 

never be able to 
do it." 

w Perhaps not ; 
I can only die 
on the way. This 
is what conies 
of your gift 

She seemed to 

"Vou sub- 
scribed half a 
crown when I 
found that I had 
lost my purse," 

"Don't I know 


" I will give 
you hack that 
half crown. The 
fare to London, 
as I happen to 
know, is only 
two and two- 
pence ; it will be enough to take you home," 

She held out a coin — no money ever had 
on me the effect the sight of that did. 

"You will not give it me, but I will accept 
it as a loan— and thank you. If you will let 
me know where to send it, the money shall be 
returned to yon to-night," 

"My name is Lucy Miller, and my 
address is 16, Manchuria Road, Newington 

With that we parted, I could not stop to 
say any more — I was not sufficiently myself; 
all I wanted was to get away. And I got 
away. As luck would have it—it was the 
first stroke of luck I had had — I just caught 
a train as it was starting ; so I left Southend 

almost as soon as I got there, It might 
have attractions for some, but it had none 
for me — not then. They seemed surprised 
to see me home so much sooner than they 
had expected ; but I gave them to under- 
stand that I was 
in no mood for 
answering ques- 
tions. I got a 
postal order for 
half a crown ; 
and I wrote this 
letter, and put 
it in :— 

Dear Miss Mil- 
leh, — According to 
promise I have 
pleasure in enclosing 
herewith the half- 
crown with which 
you were so good 
as to oblige me as 
a loan I his morning 
on Southend Pier, 
with many thanks 
for same. If you 
can make it conveni- 
ent to meet me any 
evening next week 
after seven, at your 
own time and place, 
I shall be glad to 
be allowed to ex- 
plain to you that T 
am not the sort of 
person you took me 
for. Again thanking 
you for past favours, 
and hoping to have 
the pleasure of see- 
ing you soon again, 
— Yours obediently, 
Sam Brills. 


there came an answer 
nicely written : — 

Sure enough 
on Monday, very 

Dkar Mr. Brings, — Thank you very much for the 
P.O. I shall lie at the Houses of Parliament end of 
Westminster Bridge on Tuesday evening a I 7- J 5i 
if you care to meet me. — Truly yours, 

Lucy Miller. 

Short, but to the point I likewise shall 
be at the Houses of Parliament end of 
Westminster Bridge on Tuesday evening at 
7.15, and perhaps a little before. And I shall 
have the pleasure of explaining to her how 
it all came about through that gift horse of 
Mr. William Huggins. I trust, with luck, 
shortly to have a little explanation with Mr. 
William Huggins also. 

by Google 

Original from 

Some Marvels of Delicate Mechanism. 

By Archibald Williams. 


T is hardly necessary, in the 
twentieth century, to argue 
the fact that civilization owes 
the major part of its comforts, 
conveniences, and luxuries to 
the men who make 5 or have 
made, scientific observation their business in 

We are quite willing to admit that the 
progress of humanity is dependent on the 
progress of science in all its branches. A 
little thought also makes it plain that the 
advance of science is in turn inseparable 
from the invention of delicate machines. 
Tools are as necessary for proving a theory 
as for building a machine. A scientists 
tools consist of instruments in which are 
seen combined the present maximum of 
mechanical perfection and the ingenuity 
resulting from the knowledge of already 
established laws. In some cases they merely 
represent the highest development of in- 
struments which are used by the world at 
large ; in others they are confined to the 
laboratory. This article will introduce the 
reader to a number of these marvellously 
accurate mechanisms. 

We may begin with the Ship's Chronometer, 
the sea - captain's friend. 
The position of a vessel on 
the high seas is ascertained 
by solar observations, which 
establish its longitude and 
latitude. For the longi- 
tudinal reading he is at 
the mercy of his chrono- 
meters, of which, as an 
extra precaution, every war- 
ship carries three and every 
mercantile vessel two. The 
error of a single minute 
would mean, at the Equa- 
tor, a distance error of over 
a mile ; and should tjiis 
error accumulate from day 
to day serious results might 

In 1 7 14 the Government 
offered prizes of ten thou- 
sand, fifteen thousand, and 
twenty thousand pounds for 
the discovery of a method 
of determining longitude 

After many attempts John Harrison, a York- 
shi reman, who rose from the shoemaker's last 
to fame as a mechanician, made a chrono- 
meter which, during a trip to Jamaica in 1 761 
and back the following year, showed an 
accumulated error of only one minute fifty- 
four seconds, and determined correct longi- 
tude to within eighteen miles. After much 
trouble Harrison obtained the maximum 
reward in full. 

Towards the end of the eighteenth century 
Thomas Eamshaw invented the " compensa- 
tion balance," now generally used, in an 
improved form, on all chronometers and 
high-class watches. Anyone who possesses 
a " compensated watch " will see, on stopping 
the tiny fly-wheel, that it has two spokes, 
each carrying an almost complete semicircle 
of rim attached to it by one end. A closer 
examination shows that the rim is com- 
pounded of an outer strip of brass welded to 
an inner lining of steel. The brass element 
expands more with heat and contracts more 
with cold than the steel So that, when the 
spokes become elongated by a rise of tenv 
perature, the pieces bend inwards at their free 
ends ; if the temperature falls, the spokes are 
shortened and the rim -pieces bend outwards. 

within sixty, 
thirty miles 

forty, and 


No, e. — A p^ir of ship's chronomrLers, marvels of accurate time -keeping. The specimen 

on the left, made a century ago by Thomas Earnshaw, was the first chronometer to be 

lilted with a compensation bataric:. T^nt on th* r'^ht is a new Instrument. 




This ingenious contrivance ensures that the 
''moment of inertia" of the balance wheel 
shall be kept constant within very fine limits. 
A modern chronometer has about a third 
part of each rim -piece sub-compensated 
towards its free end to counteract slight 
errors in the primary compensation. An 

No- a- — A vtsitfog-card exactly counterpoised in a pair of scales winch will weigh 
to [-1 ,QQQtn of a grain. 

Earnshaw chronometer is shown 
beside a modem instrument in 
illustration No, i. 

Probably no chronometer ever 
made will keep " dead " time for 
a month together. The makers 
object is to turn out an instru- 
ment which shall vary as little as 
possible* but vary consistently. 
A chronometer that gains a 
second a day for a week* and 
then loses a second a day for 
another week, is inferior to one 
that gains two seconds a day for 
a fortnight. After a chronometer 
has been tested in temperatures 
ranging from 35deg. to iofdeg., 
and found satisfactory, it is sold 
with a certificate showing its 

on twelve million and ninety-eight thousand ! 
Another chronometer, during a nineteen-day 
test, gained daily amounts varying between 
zero and half a second — a very consistent 
performance. On the sea ships' chronometers, 
after going to Australia via the Cape and 
back via the Red Sea, often [joint to within 
fifteen seconds of the time that 
their calculated rate of gain or 
loss should bring them to ! 

So delicate is the balance- 
wheel that a single speck of rust 
on it will render the chrono- 
meter unreliable. 

Numbers 2 and 3 show an 
interesting experiment made 
with a pair of very sensitive 
scales in the workshops of 
Messrs, Degrave and Short, 
Farringdon Road. In one pan 
was placed an ordinary visiting- 
card ; in the other, weights that 
were an exact counterpoise. The 
card was then removed and the 
words " Strand Magazine n 
were written on it in ink. Slight 
as the added weight was, it 
promptly tipped the beam. By 
means of tiny " rider " weights of 

11 limit of error," for which the 
user makes allowance. Coming to 
actual figures, here is the record 
of a chronometer tested for seven successive 
days against solar time : first day* exact : 
second, gained three and a half tenths of a 
second ; third, fourth, fifth, sixth days, exact ; 
seventh, gained six- tenths of a second. This 
is equivalent to gaining only thin onds 

Hfac 3. — The same card, after the words *' Strand Magazine 1 * have been mTiUeu 
on u T tips the beam. Eacb Letter weighs on the average i-aooch of a grain* 

very fine aluminium wire slid along the beam, 
it was found that each letter accounted for 
*ta grain I Substituting a fine pencil and 
smaller writing, the two words scaled togtihtr 
only *** grain,- This type of balance is much 
used in chenii^l'ft^MfM'Brk,, where minute 




No. 4.- A Screw-Mt^suring Instrument, which will detect an error of 
1-3,500 inch in the pitch or drpth of a scrcv hi- Id under the microscope. 

fractions of a 
grain are of the 
greatest import- 
ance. In the 
same factory we 
saw a large pair 
of scales which, 
with 5 Gib. in each 
pan, would tip if 
half a grain were 
added to either. 
So beautifully is 
it balanced on 
hard steel knife 
edges that it re- 
sponds to mirw 
of the total load. 
The next item is 
a Screw-Testing 
Machine (No, 4) 
for finding the 
mechanical truth 
of small standard 
screws. The 
screw under 
observation is 
held in a small 

self-centring split chuck, and traversed in any 
desired direction by micrometer screws. The 
microscope attachment, carrying three cross 
wires, detects variations from uniformity in 
depth of cut, pitch, or angle of the thread 
down to lAtfin. 
This instru- 
m e n t was 
designed and 
built by the 
Scientific In- 
strument Corn- 
pa ny, Cam- 
bridge, Eng^ 

In No, 5 we 
have a Pratt- 
Measuri ng 
Machine, which 
is able to deter- 
mine the length 
or diameter of 
a substance to 
within 9vs?mmn* 
The illustration 
shows the 
operator, Mr* 
Hugh Purdy, 
ascertaining the 
thickness of a 
cigarette paper, 


No, 5.— A Pr*Ttt- Wliii hey iM^isuring Mnchiue. Ii is ht:i-r sbuwti ckier mining the 
ihkknvKS o( a cigarette paper T which is »-t,ooo inch. Any iinitTisioj jj to :i 
foot can be tested to i-~~ 

which smokers 
will be glad to 
1 earn is just Tiffin. 
The writer and 
Mr. Purely, on 
comparing notes 
by means of the 
machine, found 
that their hair in 
both cases had 
a diameter of 
nWftnrin, So sen- 
sitive is the 
measurer that the 
small " feeling 
piece " drops if 
the hand be laid 
for a moment on 
the jaws when 
they are in con- 
tact This ma- 
chine is used for 
testing engineers 1 
standard gauges 
of length and 
diameter. Mr. 
Purdy showed a 
set of three bar-gauges : one, half an inch in 
diameter, the second lWAin., the third iWein. ; 
and a true half-inch ring-gauge. The first 
would not pass into the ring at all ; the second 
would enter only when oiled, and even then 

must be kept 
moving test it 
should "seize"; 
w T hile the third 
plug appeared 
quite loose* In 
modern prac^ 
tice parts of 
standard en- 
gines have of ten 
to be turned 
out by the thou- 
sand with a 
variation from 
absolute accu- 
racy not ex- 
ceeding Tffi^in, 
Many years ago 
Sir J o s e p h 
W h i t w o r t h 
constructed a 
mea suring 
machine that 
would detect 
a difference of 
rrabroin., but it 
is used only in 




laboratory experiments* The efficiency of 
such machinery depends on obtaining a 
practically perfect screw for advancing the 
jaws — a truly difficult business* 

Another very delicate screw - actuated 
machine is the Dividing Engine, used for 
ruling parallel straight lines or cutting the 
graduations on a circle, Professor Henry A. 
Rowland, an American, has constructed a 
dividing engine which has ruled 43,000 
parallel lines to the inch on a plate of specu- 
lum metal. Lord Blythswood is responsible 
for a somewhat 
similar machine 
with which he can 
cut 14,400 lines in 
the same space. 
This is equivalent 
to ruling fourteen 
fines on the tdgt of 
a eigarette paper. 
The plates so treated 
are called " diffrac- 
tion gratings," their 
purpose being to 
decide the wave 
lengths of the differ- 
ent elementary 
colours of the spec- 
trum. The move- 
ments of Lord 
Myth s w ood s en gi n e 
are so delicate that 
the room in which 
it works must be 
automatically kept 
at a constant tem- 
perature ; and even 
then the engine is 
further sheltered in 
a large case, having 
double walls inter- 
packed with cotton- 
wool. In con- 
structing the machine it was found quite 
impossible, with the most scientific tools, 
to cut a toothed wheel sufficiently accur- 
ate to drive the mechanism ; but the 
errors discovered by microscopes were made 
good hy the invention of a small electro- 
plating brush, which added the thinnest 
imaginable coat of metal to any tooth found 
deficient, While a single grating, measur- 
ing a few inches, is being prepared by 
the dividing engine, the machine is left un- 
disturbed in its closed case until the requisite 
number of lines has been cut, which 
necessitates a period of several days* If the 
lines were represented by gin. furrows, they 

No. 6,- A Dok-^ilek Eltcironicter, whkh will delect a variation in an 

electric current of i ■ i & p ooo , uoo T uoo N ooo umpere. The case has been 

removed to show trie liny mirror, A, from which a ray of light is 

reflected on to a graduated scale* 

w r ould need a field z}& miles wide to accom- 
modate them. The speculum metal used is 
a hard alloy, yet the diamond-point graver 
must travel over a plate 4! 4 in. by 6 in. a 
distance of six miles before its task is done. 
Some idea of the hardness of diamond will 
be gathered from this, especially when it is 
remembered that the point cannot be touched 
at all during the ruling of the plate. 

Messrs, Warner and Swasey, of Cleveland, 
U.S.A., have recently built a machine for 
graduating certain astronomical instruments. 
It will automatically scribe the gradua- 
tions on a circle with an error not ex- 
ceeding one second of arc. To give 
the reader some conception of what 
this means we will suppose that the 
plate to be scribed is six miles in dia- 
meter. On the machine being set to 
cut lines an inch apart round its circum- 
ference, the last would be within an 
inch of its proper position as regards 
the first. It took the makers over a 
year's hard work to reduce the error 
from one and a half 
1 seconds to one 
second of arc. 

No. 6 represents 
a wonderful instru- 
ment, the Dolezakrk 
Electrometer, w ? hich 
detects the tiniest 
variation in an elec- 
tric current. Very 
valuable radio-ac- 
tivity research work 
is being carried out 
with its aid, A 
minute mirror is 
suspended from a 
quartz fibre scWn, 
thick, and from 
this again is hung 
a needle of " silver 
paper," which oscillates inside a flat, circular 
box divided into four quadrants. The quad- 
rants are mounted upon amber to secure very 
high insulation, and connected up with the 
subject of research. The writer was assured 
by a gentleman using the instrument in a 
physical laboratory that a ray of light reflected 
by the mirror on to a scale would record a 
variation of one sixteen-billionth of an ampfere. 
As this probably means little to the average 
writer, let us assume the electric current of 
one am[£rc to be represented by a daily 
flow of 125,000,000,000 gallons. If the 
amount varied one drop the difference would 
be detected ! 




Na ?p— A Duddell Radio-Micrometer and Case, Tlie I. 
bond at a. distance of thirty feet Ls readily measured l>y 

Quartz fibres play so important a part in 
the manufacture of this and other electric 
instruments that a few lines may be devoted 
to them. Spider-web being "kinky and 
comparatively coarse, Professor C V, Hoys, 
K.R.S., devised a substitute. He heated a 
bar of quartz till plastic, and suddenly ex- 
tended it lengthways by means of an arrov^ 
fired from a cross-bow. The arrow carried a 
string attached to the quartz ; and as the 
velocity of its flight could be varied, so the 
fibres could be drawn of different thick- 
nesses. In this manner filaments not ex- 
ceeding nfllnffin. in diameter are procurable. 
It is astonishing to see with what ease trained 
workmen handle these fibres, which, to the 
ordinary eye, are invisible. 

The Duddell Radio- Micro meter (No. 7), 
invented by Mr, W. Duddell, is a modifica- 
tion of a device of Professor Boys, which last 
is able to measure the heat given off by the 
fixed stars, or by a man's hand at a distance 
often yards, or by the different parts of ihc 
moon's surface. Simply described, it con- 
sists of a very fine galvanometer, under which 
is placed a "heating-resistance" made of 
three or four turns of platinum-silver wire, 
sirloin, in diameter, round a piece of mica. 
If the galvanometer be connected to the live 
wires of a microphone transmitter arranged 
in the ordinary way, whistling at a distance of 

jumt by the human 

indcrfiil invention, 

from 15ft, to 20ft. from the 
microphone will c^iuse a heavy 
deflection of a mirror at lac lied 
to the quartz filaments or the 
galvanometer, A ray of light 
projected from a small plow-lump 
is reflected by the mirror on to 
a scale marked in millimetres 
(1 millimetre equals A in.), so 
that the exact electrical value of 
the movement can he gauged. 

The Cup Micrometer (No. 8) 
is an apparatus for accurately 
measuring small vertical move- 
ments to 25 l &a of an inch. A 
cup, fixed to the upper end of a 
vertical screw, is partially filled 
with oil. An ordinary sewing 

a distanc 

Nu. S + — A Cup MiufuiTieicr for measuring vertical uioxemtnt* 
of " faults " in strata, etc. The cup at the lop i* filled with oil 
and raised until a needle point connected to the tubject of 
measurement make-* contact. By the aid of this device a 
movement equal to an inch a itntury tan lie detected. 

needle is then attached to the object to be 
measured, and hung vertically, point down- 
wards, directly over the oil cup. Let us sup- 
pose that a floor, a| ftgp$cted of being infirm. 




No.^— The Cambridge Raking KlkrotOEMu usuci in cut ling 

sections for microscopical purposes. It will cut an invisible 

blood-corpuscle into three parts I 

The micrometer is placed in the cellar, and the 
cup raised until the needle suspended from 
the floor joists touches the surface of the oil, 
an event which is shown by the distortion of 
the needle's reflection. The reading having 
been taken, the cup is lowered, and the 
process repeated after what is considered a 
proper interval of time. A comparison of 
figures easily decides the amount of settle- 
ment It is sometimes more 
convenient to detach the oil cup 
and place it on the object to be 
measured, and to fix the needle 
to the lower end of the micro- 
meter screw. This instrument 
can be used to ascertain the 
growth of a plant from hour to 
hour ; to detect the settlement 
of a " fault " moving at the rate 
of an inch a century; or to 
check the slightest leakage from 
a reseivoir, amounting perhaps 
to but a hathful in a night. 

We now come to the Cam- 
bridge Rocking Microtome (No. 
9), an instrument which cuts very 
fine slices off a lump of paraffin 
wax, It is much employed in 
biological and research work by 
the microscopist, who mounts a 
tiny piece of animal or vegetable 
tissue in hard wax attached to 
the outer end of a rocking arm. 
The other end is worked up and 
down by a handle, and at each 

Digitized by VjO 

movement the ful- 
crum on which 
the arm rests is 
advanced an al- 
most inappreciable 
distance by a screw 
attachment. As it 
descends the wax 
encounters an in- 
verted razor, which 
shears off a slice. 
The sections come 
away in the form of 
a ribbon, as the 
edges stick to- 

Slices as thin as 
ijiffuin, may be cut 
with it by a skilful operator. To take an ex- 
ample,a blood-: ■ u p ! ..>de( visible under a micro- 
scope only) can be chopped into three parts 
as easily as a grocer would trisect a Dutch 
cheese ! Or, again, if a piece of wax one inch 
square were cut to the finest limit, its pieces 
spread over a floor would cover a space 
1 oft, by 8ft. 4m. The inventor, Mr, Horace 
Darwin, gave the writer a very interesting 
proof of the instrument's delicacy. While 
cutting sections he rested his hand in the 
centre of the solid iron bed, which is raised 
on a short leg at each corner. Though the 
bed would carry a horse without breaking, 
the slight pressure bent it sufficiently to bring 

Mo. 10,--A Sir.L.Lr \ L 1 1 ■ 1 . niu'li-r. t. n .1-. vr (.1H1IM4 \ \y:- *ii*l;itn:es litUVrtll SlAfS ull 
.Miegative, It will decide llitir y^iLiuiis; mi .Irs piate to 1-35,000 inch, 





the ra2or nearer to the wax, and a thicker 
slice than usual resulted. The next stroke, 
made after the hand had been removed, 
resulted in a " miss-fire " ! 

The Stellar Micrometer (No* 10) was 
designed by Mr. Darwin and Mr, A. R. 
Hinks for the measurement of celestial 
photographs. These are divided into squares 
tin. on the side ; and by means of a micro- 
scope and micrometer screws the exact posi- 
tion of the star on the negative can be fixed 
to ratauin. 

The Spherometer has for its 
function the detection of errors 
in the curvature of lenses, It 
consists of a small brass tabic 
with three steel legs, the pointed 
feet forming an equilateral tri- 
angle. A micrometer screw 
works through the centre of 
the table and thus forms a 
fourth leg. The head of the 
screw is so divided that it 
advances **Win, for 
a turn of one divi- 
sion ; so that the 
distance of the 
screw tip above or 
below the plane 
passing through the 
pointed feet of the 
three other legs can 
be^read off at once. 
Special sphero- 
meters have been 
constructed to re- 
gister errors as 
slight as iKifoiJuin, 

Among other 
delicate instru- 
ments to which 
space permits brief 
reference only is 
an apparatus de- 
vised by Professor 
J. H. Poynting, 
RR.S, to show 
that a ray of light falling on an absorbent sur- 
face obliquely tended to push that surface 
forward in its own plane. Professor Poynting 
detected radiation forces of nrMFxaa of a dyne.* 
Professor C. V. Boys, during an experiment 
carried out at Oxford for measuring the 
weight of the earth, used a device which was 
sensitive to an air-current moving at the rate 
of about an inch a fortnight I 

r A dyne is a, scientific unit of forces A pound weight is 
pulled downwards by pra vital ion. with a power equjl to About 
45o t oot)djffic5< 

No. 1 1. The Callendar Recorder, which automatically records on a 

chart the varying temperature of a substance : the metal in a furnace, 

the Water at the bottom of a lake, or the human body. It gives vety 

valuable help to the tool-maker and to the d utter r 

by Google 

The Callendar Recorder (No. n) is a 
wonderful contrivance for testing the heat of 
furnaces during the tempering of tools. It 
has been discovered that to temper tools 
most effectively the heating point to which 
they should be raised must lie within narrow 
limits. liy rutins of a platinum resistance 
thermometer, inserted into the furnace, its 
temperature is seen at a glance on referring 
to a chart on the drum over which an inked 
pointer constantly travels. Thanks to the 

recorder* many 
thousands of 
pounds are saved, 
annually in work^ 
where it is em- 
ployed. The doctor 
also can use it with 
advantage. When 
a patient has deve- 
loped a fever, the 
process of " taking 
a temperature " is 
disturbing and diffi- 
cult. But if a re- 
corder be kept in 
constant contact 
with his body a 
continuous reading 
is given ; and the 
attendant is warned 
of a dangerous rise. 
The instrument is 
named after its in- 
ventor, Professor 
FL L. Callendar, 
F.R.S., who is re- 
sponsible for much 
i ngen i ou s a pparat u s 
of other kinds* 

No fewer than 
nine of the instru- 
ments here de- 
scribed were made 
by the Cambridge 
(England) Scien- 
tific Instrument 
Company, a firm which has lately been awarded 
two grand prizes, two gold medals* and one 
silver medal for their exhibits at the Sl Ix>uis 
Exposition. To the directors of the com- 
pany the writer tenders his thanks for their 
kindness in supplying information and several 
illustrations. He also gratefully acknowledges 
the help of Mr. A, Johannsen, Messrs. 
Negretti and Zambra, Messrs. Degrave and 
Short, Mr. Hugh Purdy, Mr. C. R. Gibson, 
and Professors C. V. Boys, F.R.S., and J. H, 



By E. W. Hornung. 


HERE was no more fervent 
admirer of Stingaree and 
all bushrangers than George 
Oswald Abernethy Melvin 
Despite this mellifluous no- 
menclature young Melvin 
mother to sell dance- music, 
ballads, melodeons, and a very occasional 
pianoforte, in one of the several self-styled 
capitals of Riverina ; and despite both facts 
the mother was a lady of most gentle blood. 
The son could either teach or tune the piano 
with a certain crude and idle skill. He 
endured a monopoly of what little business 
the locality provided in this line, and sat 
superior on the music-stool at all the dances. 
He had once sung tenor in Bishop Methuen's 
choir, but, offended by a word of wise and 
kindly advice, w r as seen no more in surplice or 
in church. It will be perceived that Oswald 
Melvin had all the aggressive independence 
of Young Australia without the virility which 
leavens the truer type. 

Yet he was neither a base nor an unkind 
lad. His bane was a morbid temperament, 
which he could no more help than his sallow 
face and weedy person ; even his vanity was 
directly traceable to the early influence of an 
eccentric and feckless father with experi- 
mental ideas on the upbringing of a child. 
It was a pity that brilliantly unsuccessful 
man had not lived to see the result of his 
sedulous empiricism. His wife was left to 
bear the brunt — a brave exile whose romantic 
history was never likely to escape her continent 
lips. None even knew whether she saw any 
or one of those aggravated faults of an only 
child which were so apparent to all her 

And yet the worst of Oswald Melvin was 
known only to his own morbid and sensitive 
heart. An unimpressive presence in real life, 
on his mind's stage he was ever in the lime- 
light with a good line on his lips. Not that 
he was invariably the hero of these pieces. 
He could see himself as large with the noose 
round his neck as in coronet or halo ; and 
though this inward and spiritual temper may 
be far from rare, there had been no one to 
kick out of him its outward and visible expres- 
sion. Oswald had never learnt to gulp down 

Digitized by VjOOgle 

the little lie which ensures a flattering atten- 
tion ; his clever father had even encouraged 
it in him as the nucleus of imagination. 
Imagination he certainly had, but it fed on 
strong meat for an unhealthy mind ; it 
fattened on the sordid history of the earlier 
bushrangers; its favourite fare was the 
character and exploits of Stingaree. The 
sallow and neurotic face would brighten with 
morbid enthusiasm at the bare mention of 
the desperado's name. The somewhat dull, 
dark eyes would lighten with borrowed fires ; 
the young fool wore an eye-glass in one of 
them when he dared. 

" Stingaree," he would say, " is the greatest 
man in all Australia." He had inherited 
from his father a delight in uttering startling 
opinions ; but this one he held with unusual 
sincerity. It had come to all ears, and was 
the subject of that episcopal compliment which 
Oswald took as an affront. The impudent little 
choristers supported his loss by calling 
" Stingaree ! " after him in the street : he was 
wise to keep his eye-glass for the house. 

There, however, with a few even younger 
men who admired his standpoint and revelled 
in his store of criminous annals, or with his 
patient, inscrutable mother, Oswald Melvin 
was another being. His language became 
bright and picturesque, his animation sur- 
prising. A casual customer would sometimes 
see this side of him, and carry away the 
impression of a rare young dare-devil. And 
it was one such who gave Oswald the first 
great moment of his bush life. 

" Not been down from the back-blocks for 
three years ? " he had asked, as he showed 
a tremulous and dilapidated bushman how to 
play the instrument that he had bought with 
the few shillings remaining out of his cheque, 
" Been on the spree and going back to 
drive a whim until you've enough to go on 
another ? How I wish you'd tell that to our 
high and mighty Lord Bishop of all the 
Back-blocks ! I should like to see his face 
and hear him on the subject ; but 1 suppose 
he's new since you were down here last ? 
Never come across him, eh? But, of course, 
you heard how good old Stingaree scored 
off him the other day, after he thought he'd 
scored off Sting?.rq^a| from 






The whim-driver had heard something 
about it. Young Melvin plunged into the 
congenial narrative and emerged minutes 
later in a dusky glow. 

" That's the man for my money," he 
perorated ; " he's the greatest chap in these 
colonies, and deserves to be Viceroy when 
they get Federation- Thunderbolt Morgan, 
Ben Hall, and Ned Kelly were not a circum- 
stance between them to Stingaree ; and the 
silly old Bishop's a silly old fool to him ! I 
don't care twopence about right and wrong. 
That's not the point, The one's a Force and 
the other isn V 

" A deuced sight too much force, to my 
mind," observed the whim-driver, with some 


" You don't take my 
superior youth pursued, 
of personality," 

"A bit more personal than you 
was the dark rejoinder, 

11 How do you mean ? " 

M chin's tone had altered in an instant 

" I know too much about 


Its a question 


"At first hand?" 
the youth asked, with 
bated breath, 

"Double first!" 
returned the other, 
with a muddled 
glimmer of better 

" You never knew 
him, did you?" 
whispered Oswald. 

"Knew him? 
I've been taken 
prisoner by him," 
said the whim- driver, 
with the pause of a 
man who hesitates 
to humiliate himself, 
but is lost for the 
sake of that same 
sensation which 
Oswald Mel vi n 
loved to create, 

Mrs. Melvin was 
in the back room, 
wistfully * engrossed 
in an English maga- 
zine sent that even- 
ing from Bishop's 
Lodge. The bad 
blood in the son had 
not affected Dr. 
MethueiVs keen but 
tactful interest in the 
mother. She looked up in tolerant con- 
sternation as her Oswald pushed an unsavoury 
bushman before him into the room ; but 
even through her gentle horror the mother's 
love shone with that steady humour which 
put it beyond the pale of vulgar pathos. 

"Here's a man who's been stuck up by 
Stingaree ! " he cried, boyish enough in his 
delight. "Do keep an eye on the show, 
mother, and let him tell me all about it, as 
he's good enough to say he will. Is there 
any whisky ? " 

"Not forme!" put in the whim-driver, 
with a frank shudder, " I should like a drink 
of tea out of a cup, if I'm to have anything." 
Mrs. Melvin left them with a good- 
humoured word besides her promise. She 
had given no sign of injury or disapproval ; 
she was not one of the wincing sort ; and the 
tremulous tramp was in her own chair before 
her back was turned. 

" Now, fire away ! n cried the impatient 

" It's a long story," said the whim-driver; 
and his dfitoji ^W^STtratinft knit in thought. 





" l^et's have it," coaxed the young man* 
And the other's thoughtful creases vanished 
suddenly in the end. 

" Very well," said he, "since I'm going to 
owe it to you ! It was only the other day, 
in a dust-storm away back near the Darling, 
as bad a one as ever I was out in. I was 
bushed and done for, gave it up and said my 
prayers. Then I practically died in my 
tracks, and came to life in a sunny clearing 
later in the day* The storm was over ; two 
coves had found me and carried me to their 
camp ; and as soon as I saw them I spotted 
one for Howie and the other for Stingaree !" 

The narrative went no farther for a time. 
The thrilling youth fired question and lead- 

Lr as iif. wsmt m: ii i iih 




by Google 

ing question like a cross-examining counsel 
in a fever to conclude his case, a very 
machine-gun among cross-exa miners. The 
tea arrived, but the whim-driver had to help 
himself. His host neglected everything but 
the first chance he had ever had of hearing of 
Stingaree or any other bushranger at first- 

"And how long were you there?" 
"About a week.'* 
11 What happened then ? " 
The whim-driver paused in doubt renewed. 
"You will never guess," 
"Tell me." 

" They waited for the next dust-storm, and 
then cast me adrift in that." 

Oswald stared ; he would never have 
guessed, indeed. The unhealthy light 
faded from his sallow face. Even his 
morbid enthusiasm was a little damped, 
11 You must have done something to 
deserve it," he cried, at last. 

" I did," was the reply, with hanging 
head, H I — I tried to take him ! " 

"Take your benefactor — take him 
prisoner ? " 

" Yes — the man who saved my life ! " 
Melvin sat staring : it was a stare 
of honestly incredulous disgust. Then 
he sprang to his feet, a brighter youth 
than ever, his depression melted like 
a cloud. His villainous hero was an 
heroic villain after all! His heart of 
hearts which was not Mark- rould 
still render whole homage to Stingaree ! 
He no longer frowned on his informer 
as on a thing accurst He had 
wiped out his original treachery to 
Stingaree by replacing the uninjured 
idol in its niche in the warped mind 
of the adoring egotist. But the man 
seemed better aware of the earlier 
impression he had made. And in a 
very few minutes Mrs. Melvin was 
hack in her place, though not before 
flicking it with her handkerchief, 
undetected by her son. 

It was certainly a battered and 
hang- dog figure that stole away into 
the bush. Yet the creature straight- 
ened as he strode into starlight un- 
do filed by earthly illumination; his 
palsy left him ; presently as he went he 
began fingering the new melodeon in 
the way of a man who need not have 
sought elementary instruction from 
Oswald Melvin, And now a shining 
di'v filled onr univa>lu/n rye. 

SLinQ^pyofifeiPFt °f that rig' 11 




beside the milk-white mare that he had left 
tethered in a box-clump quite near the town ; 
at sunrise he knelt and shaved on the 
margin of a Government tank, before break- 
ing the mirror by plunging in. And before 
the next stars paled he was snugly back in 
older haunts, none knowing of his descent 
upon those of men. 

There or thereabouts, hidden like the 
needle in the hay, and yet ubiquitous in 
the stack, the bushranger remained for 
months. Then there was an encounter, not 
the first of this period, but the first in which 
shots were exchanged. One of these pierced 
the lungs of his melodeon — an instrument as 
notorious by this time as the musical-box 
before it — a still greater treasure to Stingaree. 
That was near the full of a certain summer 
moon ; it was barely waning to the eye when 
the battered buyer of melodeons came for 
a new one to the shop in the pretty bush 

The shop was closed for the night, but 
Stingaree knocked at a lighted window under 
the veranda, which Mrs. . Melvin presently 
threw up. Her eyes flashed when she 
recognised one against whom she now har- 
boured a bitterness on quite a different plane 
of feeling from her former repulsion. Even 
to his first glance she looked an older and a 
harder woman. 

" I am sorry to see you," she said, with a 
soft vehemence plainly foreign to herself. " I 
almost hate the sight of you ! You have 
been the ruin of my son ! " 

"His ruin?" 

Stingaree forgot the speech of the un- 
lettered stockman ; but his cry was too short 
to do worse than warn him. 

"Come round," continued Mrs. Melvin, 
austerely. " I will see you. You shall hear 
what you have done." 

In another minute he was in the parlour, 
where he had sat aforetime. He never 
dreamt of sitting now. But the lady took her 
accustomed chair as a queen her throne. 

" Is he ruined ? " asked Stingaree. 

" Not irrevocably — not yet ; but he may be 
any moment He must be before long." 

" But — but what ails him, madam ? " 

" Villain-worship ! " cried the lady, with a 
tragic face stripped of all its humour, and 
bare without it as a winter's tree. 

"I remember! Yes — I understand. He 
was mad about — Stingaree." 

" It is madness now," said the bitter 
mother. " It was only a stupid, hare-brained 
fancy then, but now it is something worse. 
I have not admitted it to a soul," she con- 

tinued, with illogical indignation, " but you — 
it is all through you ! " 

"All through me?" 

" You told him a tale. You made that 
villain a greater hero in his eyes than ever. 
You made him real." 

" He is real enough, Heaven knows ! " 

" But you made him so to my son." The 
keen eyes softened for one divine instant 
before they filled. "And I — I am talking 
my own boy over with — with " 

Stingaree stood in twofold embarrassment. 
Did she know after all who he was ? And 
what had he said he was, the time before ? 

"The lowest of the low," he answered, 
with a twitch of his unshaven lips. 

" No ! That you are not, or were not, 
whatever you may say. You," she hesitated 
sweetly — " you had been unsteady when you 
were here before." He twitched again, im- 
perceptibly. " Thank Heaven, you are now 
more like what you must have been. I can 
bear to tell you of my boy. Oh, sir, can 
you bear with me ? " 

Stingaree twitched no more. Rich as the 
situation was, keenly as he had- savoured its 
unsuspected irony, the humour was all over 
for him. Here was a woman, still young, 
sweet and kind, and gentle as a childish 
memory, with her fine eyes full of tears ! 
That was bad enough. To make it worse, she 
went on to tell him of her son, him an outlaw, 
him a bushranger with a price upon his skin, 
as she might have outlined the case to a con- 
sulting physician. The boy had been born 
in the trouble of her early exile ; he could 
not help his temperament. He had countless 
virtues ; she extolled him in beaming paren- 
theses. But he had too much imagination 
and too little balance. He was morbidly 
wrapt up in the whole subject of romantic 
crime, and no less than possessed with the 
personality of this one romantic criminal. 

" I should be ashamed to tell you the 
childish lengths to which he has gone," she 
went on, " if he were quite himself on the 
point. But indeed he is not. He is Sting- 
aree in his heart, Stingaree in his dreams ; it 
is as debasing a form as mental and tem- 
peramental weakness could well take; yet I 
know, who watch over him half the night. 
He has an eye-glass ; he keeps revolvers ; he 
has even bought a white mare ! He can 
look extremely like the portraits one has seen 
of the wretched man. But come with me 
one moment." 

She took the lamp and led the way 
into the little room where Oswald Melvin 
slept. He had slept in it from that boyhood 




in which the brave woman had opened this 
sort of shop entirely for his sake. Music 
was his only talent ; he was obviously not to 
be a genius in the musical world ; but it was 
the only one in which she could foresee the 
selfish, self-willed child figuring with credit, 
and her foresight was only equalled by her 
resource. The business was ripe and ready 
for him when he grew up, And this was 
what he was making of it. 

But Stingaree saw only the little bed that 


had once been far too large, the Bible still 
by its side, read or unread, the parents' 
portraits overhead. The mnther was looking 
in an opposite direction ; he followed her 
eyes, and there at the foot, where the in- 
fatuated fool could see it last thing at night 
and first in the morning was an enlarged 
photograph of the bushranger himself. 

It had been taken in audacious circum- 
stances a year or two before. A travelling 
photographer had been one of yet another 
coach -load turned out and stood in a line by 
the masterful masterless man. 

"Now you may take my photograph. The 
police refuse to know me when we do meet. 
Give them a chance." 

And he had posed on the spot with eye- 
glass up and pistols pointed, as he saw him- 
self now, not less than a quarter life-size, in 
a great gaudy frame. But 
while he stared Mrs. 
Melvin had been rum- 
maging in a drawer, and 
when he turned she was 
staring in her turn with 
glassy eyes. In her hands 
was an empty mahogany 
case with velvet moulds 
which ought to have been 
filled by a brace of 
missing revolvers. 

11 He kept it locked — ■ 
he kept them in it ! " she 
gasped, "He may have 
done it this very night ! " 
" Done what ?" 
" Stuck up the Denili- 
quin mail. That is his 
maddest dream, I have 
heard him boast of it to 
his friends — the brainless 
boys who alone look up 
to him — I have even 
heard him rave of it in 
his dreams ! * 

Stingaree was heavy 
for a moment with a 
mental calculation. His 
head was a time-table of 
Cobb's coaches on the 
Riverina road system ; he 
nodded it as he located 
the imperilled vehicle. 

" Then he sha'n't," 
said he, "But there's 
not a moment to lose ! " 

"Do you mean that 
you will follow and stop 
" If he really means it." 
" He may not. He will ride at night He 
is often out as late." 

"Going and coming about the same 

"Yes— now I think of it." 
" Then his courage must have failed him 
hitherto, and it probably will again/ 1 




"But if not?" 

" I will cure him. But I must go at once. 
I have a horse not far away. I will gallop 
and meet the coach ; if it is still safe, as you 
may be sure it will be, I shall scour the 
country for your son. I can tell him a fresh 
thing or two about Stingaree ! " 

" Hea%en bless you \ ' 

u Leave him to me," 

" Ohj may Heaven bless you always ! " 

His hands were in a lady's hands once 
more. Stingaree withdrew them gently. And 
he looked his last into the brave, wet eyes 
raised gratefully to his. 

The villa in- worshipper was indeed duly 
posted in a certain belt of trees through 
which the coach-route ran, about half-way 
between the town and the first stage south. 
It was not his first nocturnal visit to the 
spot ; often, as his prototype divined, had 
the mimic would-be desperado sat trembling 
on his hoary screw, revolvers ready, while the 
red eyes of the coach dilated down the road ; 
and as often had the cumbrous ship pitched 
past unscathed. The weak-kneed and weak- 
minded youth was too vain to 
feel much ashamed. He was 
biding his time, he could pick 
his night ; one was too dark, 
another not dark enough ; he 
had always some excuse for 
himself when he regained his 
room, still unstained by crime; 
and so the unhealthy excite- 
ment was deliriously main- 
tained. To-night, as always 
when he sallied forth^ the 
deed should be done; he 
only wished there were a 
shade less moon, and won- 
dered whether he might not 
have done better to wait 
But the die was cast, as 
usual. And indeed it was 
quite a new complication that 
deterred this poor creature 
for the last time ; he was 
feverishly expecting the coach 
when a patter of hoofs smote 
his ear from the opposite 

This was enough to stay 
an older and a bolder hand. 
Oswald tucked in his guns 
with unrealized relief It was 
his last instinct to wait and 
see whether the horseman was 
worth attacking for his own 
sake; he had room for few 

ideas at the same time; and his only new 
one was the sense of a new danger, which he 
prepared to meet by pocketing his pistols as a 
child bolts stolen fruit. There was no think- 
ing before the act ; but it was perhaps as 
characteristic of the naturally honest man as 
of the coward- 

Stingaree swept through the trees at a 
gallop, the milk-white mare flashing in the 
moonlit patches. At the sight of her 
Oswald was convulsed with a premonition as 
to who was coming ; his heart palpitated as 
even his heart had never done before ; and 
yet he would have sat irresolute, inert, and 
let the man pass as he always let the coach, 
had the decision been left to him. The real 
milk-white mare affected the imitation in its 
turn as the coach- horses never had ; and 
Oswald swayed and swam upon a whinnying 
steed. . . . 

" I thought you were Stingaree ! " 

The anti-climax was as profound as the 
weaklings relief. Yet there was a strong 
dash of indignation in his tone* 

"What if I am?" 



Original from 



" But you're not. You're not half smart 
enough. You can't tell me anything about 
Stingaree ! " 

He put his eye-glass up with an air. 

Stingaree put up his. 

" You young fool ! " said he. 

The thoroughbred mare, the eye-glass, a 
peeping pistol were all superfluous evidence. 
There was the far more unmistakable 
authority of voice and eye and bearing. Yet 
the voice at least was somehow familiar to 
the ear of Oswald, who stuttered as much 
when he was able. 

" I must have heard it before, or have I 
dreamt it ? I've thought a good deal about 
you, you know ! " 

To do him justice, he was no longer very 
nervous, though still physically shaken. On 
the other hand, he began already to feel the 
elation of his dreams. 

"I do know. You've thought your soul 
into a pulp on the subject, and you must 
give it up," said Stingaree, sternly. 

Oswald sat aghast. 

" But how on earth did you know ? " 

"I've come straight from your mother. 
You're breaking her heart." 

" But how can you have come straight 
from herl" . 

" I've come down for another melodeon. 
I've got to have one, too." 

"Another " 

And Oswald Melvin knew his drunken 
whim-driver for what he had really been. 

"The yarn I told you about myself was 
true enough," continued Stingaree. "Only 
the names were altered, as they say; it 
happened to the other fellow, not to me. I 
made it happen. He is hardly likely to 
have lived to tell the tale." 

" Did he really try to betray you after what 
you'd done for him ? " 

" More or less. He looked on me as fair 

" But you had saved his life ? " 

Stingaree shrugged. 

" We rode across him." 

" And you think he perished of dust and 

Stingaree nodded. " In torment ! " 

" Then he got what he jolly well earned ! 
Anything less would have been too good for 
him ! " cried Oswald, and with a boyish, 
uncompromising heat which spoke to some 
human nature in him still. 

But Stingaree frowned up the moonlit 
track the coach must traverse. Time was 
short. The morbid enthusiast was not to be 
disgusted ; indeed, he was all enthusiasm 

now, and a less unattractive lad than the 
bushranger had hoped to find him. He 
looked the white screw and Oswald up and 
down as they sat in their saddles in the 
moonshine: it seemed like sunlight on that 
beaming fool. 

" And you think of commencing bush- 
ranger, do you ? " 

" Rather ! " 

" It's a hard life while it lasts, and a nasty 
death to top up with." 

"They don't hang you for it." 

" They might hang me for the man I put 
back in the vile dust from whence he sprung. 
They'd hang you in six months. You've 
too many nerves. You'd pull the trigger 
every time." 

" A short life and a merry one ! " cried the 
reckless Oswald. " I shouldn't care." 

" But your mother would," retorted 
Stingaree, sharply. " Don't think about your- 
self so much ; think about her for a change." 

The young man turned dusky in the 
moonlight ; he was wounded where the 
Bishop had wounded him, and Stingaree was 
quick to see it — as quick to turn the knife 
round in the wound. 

" What a bushranger i " he jeered. " Put 
your plucky little mother in a side-saddle 
and she'd make two of you — ten of you — 
twenty of a puny, namby-pamby, conceited 
young idiot like you ! Upon my word, 
Melvin, if I had a mother like you I should 
be ashamed of myself. I never had, I may 
tell you, or I shouldn't have come down to 
a dog's life like this." 

The bushranger paused to watch the effect 
of his insults. It was not quite what he 
wanted. The youth would not hang his 
head. And, if he did not answer back, he 
looked back doggedly enough ; for he could 
be dogged, in a passive way ; it was his one 
hard quality, the knot in a character of deal. 
Stingaree glanced up the road once more, 
but only for an instant. 

" It is a dog's life," he went on, " whether 
you believe it or not. But it takes a bull- 
dog to live it, and don't you forget it. It's 
no life for a young poodle like you ! You 
can't stick up a better man than yourself, not 
more than once or twice. It requires some- 
thing more than a six-shooter, and a good 
deal more than was put into you, my son ! 
But you shall see for yourself; look over 
your shoulder." 

Oswald did so, and started in a fashion 
that set the bushranger nodding his scorn. 
It was only a pair of lamps still close together 
in the distance up the road. 




"The coach!" exclaimed the excited 

"Exactly," said Stingaree, "and I'm going 
to stick it up." 

Excitement grew to frenzy in a flash. 

"I'll help you!" 

"You'll do no such thing. But you shall 
see how it's done, and then ask yourself 
candidly if it's nice work and if you're the 
man to do it. Ride a hundred yards farther 
in t tether your horse quickly in the thickest 
scrub you can find, then run back and climb 
into the fork of this gum tree. You'll have 
time ; if you're sharp 111 give you a kg up 
But I shaVt be surprised if I don't see you 
again ! " 

There is no saying what Oswald might 
have done, but for these last words* Certain 
it is that they set him galloping with an. oath, 
and brought him back 
panting in another 
minute. The coach - 
lamps were not much 
wider apart Stingaree 
awaited him, also on 
foot, and quicker than 
the telling Oswald was 
ensconced on high where 
he could see through the 
meagre drooping leaves 
with very little danger of 
being seen. 

"And if you come 
down before I'm done 
and gone — if it's not to 
glory — I'll run some lead 
through you I You'll be 
the first ! n 

Oswald perched reflect- 
ing on this final threat ; 
and the scene soon en- 
acted before his eyes was 
viewed as usual through 
the aura of his own 
egoism. He longed all 
the time to be taking 
part in it ; he could see 
himself so distinctly at 
the work— save for about 
a minute in the middle, 
when for once in his life 
he held his breath and 
trembled for other skins. 

There had been no 
unusual feature. The 
life-size coach- lam ps had 
shown their mountain- 
range of outside passen- 
gers a^ainsL moon - lit 

sky or trees, A cigar paled and reddened 
between the teeth of one t plain wreaths of 
smoke floated from his lips, with but an 
instant's break, when Stingaree rode out and 
.stopped the coach. The three leaders reared ; 
the two wheelers were pulled almost to their 
haunches. The driver was docile in deed, 
though profane in word ; and Stingaree him- 
self discovered a horrifying vocabulary out of 
keeping with his reputation. In incredibly 
few minutes driver and passengers were 
formed in a line and robbed in rotation, all 
but two ladies who were kept inside unmo- 
lested. A flagrant Irishman declared it was 
the proudest day of his life, and Oswald's 
heart went out to him, though it rather dis- 
pleased him to find his own sentiments 
shared by the vulgar. The man with the 
cigar kept it glowing all the time. The 






mail-bags were not demanded on this occa- 
sion. Stingaree was too far afield to dally 
over them. He was still collecting purse 
and watch, when Oswald's young blood Froze 
in the stiffening limbs be dared not move. 

One of the ladies had got down from the 
coach on the off side, and behold ! it was a 
man wrapped in a rug, which dropped from 
him as he erupt round behind the horses ; 
at tlnir head stond the lily mare, as if 
doing her own nefarious [>art by b 



kind. In a twinkling the mad adventurer 
was on her back, and' all this time Oswald 
longed to jump down, or at least to shout 
a warning to his hero, but, as usual, his 
desires were unproductive of word or deed. 
And then Stingaree saw his man. 

He did not fire ; he did not shift sight or 
barrel for a moment from the docile file 
before him. ik Harmaid ! Barmaid, my pet !" 
he cried, and heard rather than saw what 




But Oswald watched the mare stop, prick 
her ears under the hammering of unspurred 
heels, spin round, bucking as she spun, and 
toss her rider like a bull. There in the 
moonlight he lay like lead, with leaden face 
upturned to the shuddering youngster in the 

" One of you a doctor ? " asked Stingaree, 
checking a forward movement of the file. 

" I am." 

The cigaj was paling between a finger and 

" Then come you here and have a look at 
him. The rest of you move at your peril ! " 

Stingaree led the way, stepping backward, 
but not as far as the injured man, who sat up 
ruefully as the bushranger sprang into the 

" Another yard, and I'd have grabbed 
your ankles ! " said the man on the ground. 

"'You're a good man, but I know more 
about this game than you," the outlaw 
answered, riding to his distance and reining 
up. " If I didn't you might have had me, 
but you must think of something better for 
Stingaree ! " 

He galloped his mare into the bush and 
Oswald clung in lonely terror to his tree. A 
snatch of conversation called him to attention. 
The plundered party were clambering philo- 
sophically to their seats, while the driver 
blasphemed delightedly over the integrity of 
his mails. 

" That wasn't Stingaree," said one. 

" You bet it was ! " 

11 How much ? He never would work so 
far south." 

" And he's nuts on mails." 

" But if it wasn't Stingaree, who was it ? " 

" It was him all right. Look at the mare." 

" She isn't the only white 'orse ever foaled," 
remarked the driver, sorting his fistful of 

" But who else could it have been ? " 

The driver uttered an inspired imprecation. 

" I can tell you. I chanst to live in this 
here township we're comin' to. On second 
thoughts, I'll keep it to myself till we get 

And he cracked his whip. 

Oswald himself rode back to the township 
before the moon went down. He was very 
heavy with his own reflections. How mag- 
nificent ! It had all surpassed his most 
extravagant imaginings — in audacity, in ex- 
pedition^ in simple mastery of the mutable 
many by Hie dominant one. He forgave 
Stingaree his gibes and insults ; he could 
have forgiven a horse- whipping from that 

king of men. Stingaree had been his 
imaginary god before ; he was a realized 
ideal from this night forth, and the reality 
outdid the dream. 

But the fly of self must always poison this 
young man's ointment, and to-night there 
was some excuse from his degenerate point 
of view. He must give it up. Stingaree was 
right ; it was only one man in thousands who 
could do unerringly what he had done that 
night. Oswald Melvin was not that man. 
He saw it for himself at last. But it was a 
bitter hour for him. Life in the music-shop 
would fall very flat after this ; he would be 
dishonoured before his only friends, the 
unworthy hobbledehoys who were to have 
joined his gang ; he could not tell them what 
had happened, not at least until he had 
invented some less inglorious part for him- 
self, and that was a difficulty in view of news- 
paper reports of the sticking-up. He could 
scarcely tell them a true word of what had 
passed between himself and Stingaree. If 
only he might yet grow more like the master ! 
If only he might still hope to follow in his 
startling steps ! 

So aspiring, vainly as now he knew, Oswald 
Melvin rode slowly back into the excited 
town, and past the lighted police - barracks, 
in the innocence of that portion of his heart. 
But one had flown, running ahead of him, 
and two in uniform, followed by that one, 
dashed out on Oswald and the old white 

" Surrender ! " sang out one. 

" In the Queen's name ! " added the other. 

"Call yourself Stingaree?" panted the 

Our egoist was quick enough to grasp their 
meaning, but quicker still to see and to seize 
the chance of a crazy lifetime. Always 
acute where his own vanity was touched, his 
promptitude was for once on a par with his 

" Had your eye on me long ? " he inquired, 
delightfully, as he dismounted. 

" Long enough," said one policeman. The 
other was busy plucking loaded revolvers 
from the desperado's pockets. A crowd had 

11 If you're looking for the loot," he went 
on, raising his voice for the benefit of all, 
" you may look. / sha'n't tell you, and it'll 
take you all your time ! " 

But a surprise was in store for prisoner and 
police alike. Every stolen watch and all the 
missing money w r ere discovered no later than 
next morning in the bush quite close to the 
scene of the outrage. There had been no 


3 o8 


' suKREsmKK ! £; urn o\t; 

attempt to hide thorn ; they lay in a heap, 
dumped from the saddle, with no more 
depreciation than a broken watch - glass. 
True to his new character, Oswald learned 
this development without flinching; his ready 
comment was in next day's pajjers. 

"There was nothing worth having," he had